“I’ll try.”
Carla stood, and before she left the room she bent down and kissed my forehead. She was another one that had lost weight and her normal immaculate attire was crumpled.
When I was alone, I reached for my phone and switched it on. I deleted the unanswered texts from Stefan, scrolled past the missed calls and searched my contacts for Casey’s number. I held the phone with a shaky hand to my ear and listened to it ring. It rang and rang. Her usual voicemail failed to kick in and after a couple of minutes, the call cut off. I sent a text.
Darling, can you call me.
I slid my legs to the side of the bed and sat. Kerry needed my help. I had to move my body regardless of the ache. I picked up the little white pill and rolled it in my fingers. I closed my eyes as I popped it in my mouth and took a sip of water.
“You are one nasty bastard. Believe me when I say we will fight you on this,” I heard Carla say into her phone.
I hesitated by the living room door, hoping I wouldn’t be noticed.
“He is her son too,” she said.
Who was she talking to? Carla turned and saw me. She gave me a sad smile.
“I mean it, Michael, we will be there and you will be civil or all hell is going to break loose.” She cut off her call.
“What was that about?” I asked. I noticed the change in pitch in my voice.
“Come and sit down. Let me get you some soup.”
I sat on the sofa while she rushed to the kitchen. A minute later mum returned with a tray.
“Where’s Kerry?” I asked.
“She’s sleeping. The doctor saw her too, gave her a check up. She needs lots of rest, like you do, and to eat.”
Carla returned to the room with another tray for herself. She sat beside me and encouraged me to eat. I wasn’t hungry but I took a couple of mouthfuls more to please and stop the nagging.
When I was done I placed the tray on the coffee table.
“What was that call about?” I asked.
I saw the look that passed between my mum and Carla.
“Michael won’t change any of the funeral details and he asked that you don’t attend. He doesn’t think you are well enough.”
“He doesn’t think I’m well enough? What the fuck does that mean, and how does he know anything about me?”
“He’s being a prick, and I won’t stand for it,” mum said. “In fact, I’m going over there.”
She bustled from the room and grabbed her coat.
“Mum, don’t. I’m going. He can’t stop me. When and where is it?”
I didn’t think I had any tears left but fresh ones rolled down my cheeks. How could he try to keep me away from my son’s funeral? What kind of a man does that?
“Why would he do that?” I whispered.
Mum came back into the room, sat beside me and placed her arm around my shoulders.
“Because he is a nasty prick wracked with guilt.”
If the situation wasn’t so dire, I’d have found the use of the word ‘prick’ funny coming from my mother’s mouth. She never swore normally.
“Darling, we need to get you fit enough. You need to walk in that church with your head held high and take your place at the front. Will you help us do that for you?”
I nodded. I needed to find enough strength to get through that one day. I could collapse back into my world after.
There was no black hearse for us on the day of the funeral. No visitors to our house, no flowers lay at our gate. But we dressed, four women in mourning, and we headed out to a waiting car. Carla had arranged for a black car with a driver to collect us. We arrived at the church at the same time as the hearse and the one black limousine. Carla instructed our driver to pull up behind them. We exited the car at the same time and I held my head high. Casey didn’t look over. Michael kept his head low but his mother, Francis, walked over.
She placed her gloved hand on my arm. “I’m so sorry. I’ve argued with him over this,” she said.
She was another one that had aged. “It’s not your fault, Francis. To keep me away from my own son’s funeral is about the lowest thing your son has done and he’s done some pretty shitty things. Is his tart here with him? The woman he has had an affair with for years?”
Her face blanched. “Oh, you didn’t know about her? I’m sorry,” I added.
I patted her hand and started to walk towards the church. I was stopped by many of Ben’s friends and it pleased me to see not one person speak to Michael.
I held on to the arm of my mother and we filed into the church. I took a seat in the front pew with Kerry, my mum and Carla; Michael sat the other side of the aisle. I refused to look over. I refused to acknowledge him at all.
One of Ben’s friends stood and gave the eulogy. It was a touching speech from someone who had known him since childhood. He talked about the fun they had, he mentioned me many times and spoke fondly of Kerry and the baby. Again, Michael wasn’t mentioned. How could he think he could organise a funeral for someone he didn’t even know?
The longer the service went on, the angrier I became. I sat rigid and found I was struggling to breath. Mum placed her hand on my arm and I looked down. I hadn’t realised I had been holding her hand and was squeezing tighter the more my anxiety rose.
“Just breathe,” she whispered.
The room swam, the echo around the stone interior hurt my ears and my vision blurred. I could feel my heart racing, it pounded so hard in my chest I felt physical pain. My legs shook and at that point, I wanted to run. I wanted to leave the church and keep on running. I focused on the dark wood, grotesque coffin with the ridiculous array of roses on the top. Ben hated roses. Why did Michael not know that?
Thankfully, before I got to point of passing out, the service was over. Carla stood; my mum stood and held out her hand to me. I was unsure if my legs would hold me up as I gingerly got to my feet.
The pallbearers carried Ben’s coffin down the aisle and Carla made a point of blocking Michaels exit so we could follow first. I shuffled behind my son.
Four chairs were laid out beside a hole in the ground; Carla led me to one. I sat and patted the seat next to me for Kerry. I looked up as Casey appeared.
“Sit with us,” I said quietly. She ignored me and that hurt.
Her refusal to acknowledge me must have been witnessed by all. I bowed my head, not wanting to see if their brows furrowed in question. I didn’t hear the priest, I didn’t watch my son being lowered to the ground. I kept my gaze on my feet. It was a tug on my arm that alerted me to the fact it was over.
“Do you want to stay?” mum asked. I shook my head.
Michael was talking to the priest. He showed no emotion, and I doubted he had even cried. I was led to our car and we drove home. There was no invitation to join the wake; I wasn’t even sure if there was one.
We arrived home and I climbed the stairs, ripping at my tights as I did, tearing them from my body. I wanted rid of the sombre clothing. I wanted to climb in bed in my pyjamas and shut the world out.
I woke, not realising I had fallen asleep and looked at the bedside clock. It was early hours of the morning. I wasn’t sure of the day. Had I been to Ben’s funeral, or had that been a dream? I struggled to understand what was real and what wasn’t.
I needed fresh air. I staggered down the stairs with tears blinding me. I reached the kitchen more by instinct than anything else. As I headed to the sink, I noticed a bottle. Somewhere in my frazzled brain the idea that alcohol would dull the pain emerged. I drank straight from the bottle. It spilled down my chin and puddled on the floor at my feet. I needed to be numb, needed the noises in my head to stop. I needed to sleep, the sleep of the dead.
I shook the bottle, not understanding why all of sudden it was empty. It had been heavy when I’d first lifted it to my lips. And then I spotted them. A white box sat on the counter top. I lifted it, intending to read, but, as if they had a will of their own, my hands open the packet. I stared at them. Tranquillity
wrapped its arms around me. I knew what I needed to do.
One pill, two pills, three pills—how many did I need?
Four pills, five pills, six pills—I lost count after that.
I know I placed them on my tongue, the chalkiness dried my mouth as I tried to swallow. I cupped a hand under the running tap and drank from it. Washing the solution to my nightmare down my throat.
More pills—more water.
I heard a whining, something wet nudged at my face. I couldn’t open my eyes and I couldn’t move my body. I wasn’t sure where I was other than it was quiet, it was peaceful. There was no screaming in my head. I floated, I felt light, and without pain. A warm body lay beside me. I blocked out the sound of the whines that grew louder.
There was so much noise and light, I was angry. I didn’t want to wake. I was happy in my black hole; the darkness comforted me. I didn’t feel, I didn’t hurt. Hands pulled and tugged and prodded. Lights flashed in my eyes. Voices drifted in and out. All I wanted to do was sleep.
I woke in a strange room. The soft cream coloured walls were bare of any pictures but a TV was mounted up high. A wooden wardrobe stood alongside a matching dressing table. To one side was a large sash window with tapestry curtains and I found it peculiar for them not to have tiebacks. It spoilt the look of the obviously expensive drapes. I lay in an unfamiliar double bed cocooned in a floral covered duvet; the pattern matched the curtains.
My head thumped, my throat was sore and my body felt heavy. A young man walked into the room. He wore a uniform of blue trousers and a white polo shirt. He smiled and spoke; I didn’t hear his words. I drifted back into sleep.
I woke periodically, the man—or maybe it was another—would be there. The time between waking seemed to lessen.
“Where am I?” I asked.
Memories popped in and out of my head. Dini lying on the floor next to me, a scream from someone, being woken to take medication. Crying.
“Morning, Jayne. How are you feeling today?”
The man sat beside my bed. He smiled at me.
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Glenn, and I’m your nurse. How about we sit you up a little, and maybe you’d like a drink?”
“Where am I?” I repeated.
“You’re in the hospital.”
He fussed around, arranging pillows behind my back. I couldn’t think straight. I felt like I’d woken from the longest sleep. My body ached and my mind was hazy.
“Why?”
“Let’s get you comfortable first.”
I didn’t have the energy to question any further. I dozed on and off throughout the day. Glenn would leave and return on a regular basis. When I woke, I could see out into the corridor. People walked up and down, some stopped and gave me a smile; one called out hello. I wondered what kind of a hospital I was in. No one wore nightclothes or gowns.
I needed to pee and I was hungry. I swung my legs from the bed and was surprised to feel how weak they felt. I sat to allow my head time to stop swimming. I didn’t like the feeling, I didn’t like that I couldn’t concentrate.
“Shall I help you?” I heard. I looked up to see Glenn stride into the room.
“I need the bathroom.”
“Okay, how about you take my arm. You’ve slept on and off for a while, you might feel a little weak.”
“How long have I been here?”
“A week now.”
I stopped mid-stand. “A week?”
“Louise is coming to see you in a minute. She’ll be able to explain everything to you.”
I finally stood and was helped to the bathroom. I paused at the door. Surely he wasn’t going to accompany me in?
“I’ll stand here, don’t worry,” he said with a chuckle, perhaps noticing my hesitation.
I closed the bathroom door behind me and realised there was no lock. I wore unfamiliar pyjamas. I pulled down the grey flannel trousers and sat. The bathroom housed a bath, a sink and a separate shower. White fluffy towels were placed on a rail above a small radiator and I noticed toiletries on a shelf. They were the same as the toiletries I’d used at home.
“A week?” I whispered to myself.
It frightened me to realise that I had no memory of being in that place for a week. Flashbacks filled my mind. I was at home, I’d been to my son’s funeral. I’d been excluded from his wake and my family hated me. Tears rolled down my cheeks.
I stood and washed my hands; there was no mirror in the bathroom and I know I thought that strange.
I wanted to shower, wanted to wash my greasy hair, but I just didn’t have the energy to do that. Without bothering to dry my tears, I left the room.
“Hello, Jayne. My name is Louise White. Are you hungry?” A woman sat on the edge of my bed.
I paused before answering. “Yes.”
“Glenn, perhaps you can organise some dinner for Jayne. Would you like to get back into bed or sit by the window for a while?”
I looked over to the large bay sash windows. Two armchairs partly facing each other and a small table were placed in the bay.
“Bed. Who are you?”
I felt panic rising in my chest. My breath started to quicken and my legs shook. Louise stood and held out her hand. I ignored it and made my way to the bed. For some strange reason I felt safe under the duvet. It was like a shield between reality and me.
“I’m your therapist, Jayne. Do you remember coming here?”
I shook my head. “I was at my son’s funeral.” I choked a little on the words.
“We know. You tried to end your life. You were taken to your local hospital and then transferred here. Can you remember any of that?”
I looked at her as the flashbacks continued. Although she smiled and seemed a kind person, her words were blunt, to the point, and cut like a knife.
“Why can’t I remember it all?” I whispered.
“You’ve been heavily medicated. We believe sleep is needed after such trauma, so we help with that for the first week of your stay. Now it’s time to start your recovery.”
“You kept me asleep?”
“Yes, on and off. You’ve woken many times. We’ve chatted but I doubt you’ll remember that.”
“I want my Mum.”
“You’ll be able to have visitors in a few days.”
Her words were firm but her voice soft. As I continued to cry she reached over for some tissues that she placed in my lap.
“Where am I?”
“This is a private mental health hospital in Sevenoaks, Jayne. Your family arranged for you to be here.”
“My family?”
I had so many thoughts running through my mind but nothing seemed to make sense.
“Tomorrow morning I’d like to go through the schedule with you. I’m going to leave this here if you feel up to reading. I know you’re anxious right now and probably very confused. We’re here to help you, Jayne.”
Glenn arrived with a tray of food and Louise stood to leave.
“I’ll let you eat, and if you need anything, just use the call button.” She smiled as she left.
Louise had said one thing that resonated with me. I was confused, very confused. I knew what I’d done; I remembered that part. I wasn’t sure it was a conscious decision to take those pills or a spur of the moment thing. I just wanted the pain to end and to feel the numbness. I wanted to stay in my black hole, and I wasn’t convinced I wanted to ‘recover’. Part of me needed the pain, part of me hated it. Part of me wanted to remember, part of me needed to forget.
I ate the meal, and although I’d never spent time in a hospital before, I was surprised at the quality. I was given soup to start, with a bread roll, and then roast chicken and vegetables. Glenn came in with a cup of tea, a plastic glass of water and some pills.
I didn’t ask what the pills were for. I swallowed them with a sip of water and then picked up the tea.
I didn’t sleep well that night. The light from the corridor, people walking, however quietly they
tried, kept disturbing me. I’d asked for the door to be closed to be told it wasn’t allowed.
I watched the sun rise on a cold morning. The trees outside the window were bare of leaves and their branches covered in frost. I tried to remember what day of the week it was.
“Good morning. How would you like to join me for breakfast?” Glenn asked as he strode into the room.
I shuffled up the bed.
“What day of the week is it?”
“Thursday, all day,” he said with a smile. “I’m starving, and I think it’s time you visited our award-winning restaurant,” he added.
“Restaurant?”
“Patients have to eat, Jayne. So, up you get.”
He walked over to the wardrobe. “You have a choice of yoga pants, is that what they’re called now? Oh, I like these ones, what about these ones?”
He held up some unfamiliar ‘yoga pants’. “They’re not mine,” I said.
My heart sped up a little. Maybe they had me confused with someone else. Perhaps I shouldn’t be there.
“They’re new. Look, there’s a tag.” He laid them on the foot of the bed with a black t-shirt. “How about a shower?”
I eyed him suspiciously. People jolly in the morning always made me suspicious. I climbed from the under the duvet and made my way to the bathroom.
I winced as I saw the grey water swirl around the plughole. My hair must have been filthy. I scrubbed my skin until it was red; I wanted to wash the dirt, the grime and the guilt away.
“Time for breakfast,” Glenn called from the room.
I switched the shower off and wrapped myself in a towel. I sat on the edge of the bath, swallowing down the panic. I wasn’t sure I was capable of leaving the room.
“You need to leave the room so I can dress,” I said.
“Okay, I’ll be right outside the door.”
I peeked out and noticed the bedroom empty. Dressing as quickly as I could, I then dragged a brush through my tangled hair and tied it up.
“Are we ready?” Glenn said as he came back into the room.
A Virtual Affair Page 22
