by Matt Drabble
The pregnancy was still in its infancy, both figuratively and literally, and they had not told any of their family or friends back in the UK. Michael instinctively knew that they were both afraid of shattering the beautiful illusion. Involving anyone from outside of Eden seemed to be tempting fate. For now, they would bask in their life as it existed in the here and now - a wonderful new home and life. Emily’s job was perfect, his new novel was steaming along, and the pregnancy was the cherry on top.
Michael had been preparing the grill in the back garden when Chris had poked his head over the fence, catching him off guard.
“Howdy, neighbor,” Chris called, smiling at Michael’s alarmed jump.
“Hey, stranger,” Michael replied, suddenly realizing with surprise that he had come to miss his friend. “How are things?” he asked softly.
“Better, much better than before, in truth.” Chris leaned on the fence partition and looked around, checking that his wife was not close. “I think that things are going to be okay. We had a lot of problems that we weren’t talking about, you know; perhaps things will be better from now on.”
“Hey, man, I’m really glad to hear that,” Michael said genuinely. He never failed to be impressed by the typical American’s optimism and positivity. He knew that if he was in the same boat, then he would crawl into a deep, dark hole and never come out again.
“That smells good; are those from Morgan’s?” Chris asked, nodding towards the sizzling steaks on the grill.
“Yep. Hey, you want to come over?” Even as he spoke, Michael cringed, thinking that it would be the last thing that his neighbors would want.
“You don’t mind, you know, after everything?” Chris asked awkwardly.
“If you’ve got the stomach for it, then so do I.”
So two hours and a couple of bottles of wine later, the foursome were back in tandem again. Michael couldn’t help but feel awkward around Janet to begin with; the image of her across the counter, and her subsequent revealing, and non-erotic redressing was hard to shake. But as the evening passed, so did the awkwardness. He caught snatches of Emily’s conversation and tone, as she spoke at length to Janet inside the kitchen. Emily’s voice had been icy to start with, but she was slowly thawing.
“So when are you going to let me introduce you to the finer points of football?” he asked Chris.
Chris grimaced. “Soccer,” he said as though dealing with a mouthful of spoiled steak.
“Not soccer,” Michael bristled. “It’s called football. You kick the ball with your foot: foot-ball,” he emphasized.
“Yeah, but it’s not real football,” Chris teased knowingly.
Michael bit, “Ah man, American football is nothing but rugby with helmets, padding, two teams a side and endless pauses,” he laughed. “Look, come over next Tuesday, around midnight, and I’ll sit you down and show you a real game. It’s Liverpool versus Man United. I’ll show you what passion is all about.”
“Passion tips from an Englishman, now I’ve heard everything,” Chris laughed. “Anyway, can’t make it next week; we’re taking a trip.”
“That sounds great,” Michael said seriously. “Maybe some time away together is just what you guys need.”
“Yeah, I certainly hope so, as long as we’re back for the festival,” Chris said, looking back at the house and his wife’s outline through the patio doors lovingly. “It’s all going to be different, Michael. I’m thinking that maybe Janet and I need to move away from here, to start somewhere new. I want Janet and me to be just like you two.”
Michael felt himself grow awkward with the praise, “Ah hey, we’re nothing special.”
“Yes you are, my friend,” Chris said as he held his gaze strongly. “You’re going to be my new inspiration,” he added lightly, not entirely joking.
The rest of the evening passed swimmingly. Michael felt himself on rare form; he was witty and happy. They ate outside in the warm night air as the buzzing insects were conspicuously absent as usual. They ate steaks, burgers, and salads, with chips and dips till they were all stuffed. The conversations were light and cheerful and the unpleasantness forgotten for now. It was gone 1am when Janet and Chris finally excused themselves. Michael was surprised when he saw the time, as he was usually growing itchy for people to leave after an hour or so.
When he and Emily finally turned in after clearing the kitchen, they both sank gratefully into the soft bed and drifted quickly.
“Did Janet tell you that they were taking a trip next week?” Michael asked as Emily’s breathing grew deep and heavy.
“No,” she slurred.
“Chris thinks that they’re going to be okay.”
“That’s nice; good for him,” she said a little tersely.
“You don’t approve?”
“Hey, it’s not my life or my spouse,” she shrugged.
“Chris even suggested that they might move away altogether.”
“That’s a shame,” she patted his leg absently.
Michael could tell from her rising shoulders that she was almost asleep and that further discussions were pointless at this time, as Emily was a heavy and deep sleeper once she went. He said his nightly silent prayers to the gods that decided on his fate, that he wouldn’t wake in the morning to find that his life had all been a dream. It was a common thought that he’d had ever since he had achieved any level of success - the idea that the whole thing was just a joke and one that was going to be whipped away at any second. As he slipped off to sleep, he curled one arm around his sleeping wife and baby and whispered in his mind, one more day, just let me have one more day.
Michael snapped awake suddenly. His stomach lurched in angst and his heart pounded hard against his chest. Instinctively, he reached for Emily and breathed easier when she stirred next to him in the dark. The readout on Emily’s alarm clock read 4:37am and his mind struggled to decipher just what was happening, when the flashing blue lights danced off of the bedroom walls.
He eased himself gently out of the bed, walked carefully to the window, and peered out to the street below through the thin net curtains. There was an Eden Gardens police car and ambulance parked outside Chris and Janet’s house. The sirens were silent, but the lights on top of the vehicles rolled alertly.
Michael grabbed a pair of shorts and a hooded top off of the chair where he usually shucked off his clothes of an evening, much to Emily’s displeasure. He struggled into them as he walked hastily down the stairs and out of the front door. His mind was racing. Was their Eden to be shattered by the intrusion of the outside world’s violent themes?
There were two deputies stopping the other emerging neighbors from getting in the way. Michael could see that their presence was pretty much redundant as the bedroom-attired did not seem to wish to get too close. Chris and Janet’s front door banged open noisily and two paramedics emerged pushing a gurney towards the ambulance. A prone figure was wrapped in what he could only assume was a body bag. The black plastic shone merrily beneath the artificial lights as the gurney came down the pathway, and Michael stepped forward to intercept it.
A firm meaty hand was suddenly planted in the centre of his chest punching the wind out of him and stopping him in his tracks.
“Some privacy, sir,” the hand's owner informed him in an authoritative tone.
Michael looked up into the eyes of the sheriff. Michael had seen him around town, but had never had cause to speak to him directly. Gerry Quinn was a bear of a man, and Michael did not feel that the sheriff was much for socialising. Emily had always expressed a slight fear of the man, but as far as Michael was concerned that only meant that he was doing his job properly.
“What happened?” Michael asked in a hushed voice.
“And you are?” the sheriff replied, turning his full attention to Michael for the first time.
“Michael Torrance. I live next door,” he answered, refusing to be intimidated by the larger man’s glare. “Chris and Janet are friends of mine.”
; “Well then, sir, I’ve got some distressing news for you. I’m afraid that Mrs. Beaumont took her own life tonight.”
Michael was stunned, “That’s not possible.”
“Oh really?” The sheriff’s dismissive tone bordered on anger.
“They both had dinner with us earlier. She seemed fine then.”
“Well I guess that we never really know what another person’s thinking, do we, sir?” The sheriff’s tone had returned to dismissive again. “Strictly in confidence, Mrs. Beaumont was apparently unfaithful, and Mr. Beaumont left her. It would appear that she was overcome with remorse, and took her own life.”
For some reason Michael paused. He knew about the affair, but he also knew that Chris had forgiven her and that they were actually planning a holiday away from here, and had even considering moving all together. For some reason, the sheriff bothered him; his attitude felt wrong. His information disclosure was too concise to a member of the public. Michael had one answer, but a lot more questions. “Where’s Chris?” he asked suddenly, not seeing his friend anywhere.
“He’s been taken to the hospital for sedation I understand. Apparently, when he informed Mrs. Beaumont that he was leaving her, that’s when she committed suicide. I understand that he’s terribly distraught.”
The whole speech seemed too informative, especially to a virtual stranger on the street. Would a sheriff really divulge such personal information? Michael didn’t quite know why, but he decided to keep the personal information that he knew about Chris and Janet to himself. “I’d better get back to my wife.”
“Of course, sir,” the sheriff said warmly, with a smile that never quite touched his eyes.
As Michael walked home, his mind reeled. Janet was dead, suicide. Chris was telling him one minute that they were planning a trip and his hopes for the future, the next he was leaving Janet and she was dead. His writer’s imagination whirled around in his head as the machine cranked into life, but he knew that he was often guilty of over stretching the truth in his own mind. Emily was always accusing him of reading too much into things, of seeing conspiracies and plots where there was only real life. As he entered his home, his thoughts turned to Emily, and he hoped that this wouldn’t spoil everything for her. Apparently, the gods of fate that he prayed to every night had only been half listening tonight.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The day dawned bright and sunny as was the want in Eden Gardens. The perfect weather was seemingly oblivious to the day’s upcoming events.
Emily moved around the kitchen in a daze. The large station wall clock read 5.47am and Janet’s funeral wasn’t until 1pm, but the world outside was already in full swing. She nursed a cooling cup of coffee and watched as the small dainty birds in the garden swooped and challenged for the feeder’s contents. Life hustled and bustled beyond her window. She’d slept fitfully ever since Michael had woken her four days ago to tell her the sad news. She knew that he was increasingly convinced that something was wrong with the whole picture. He was sure that Chris had spoken of second honeymoons or moving away, but Janet had mentioned nothing to her on that last night. Perhaps Michael had misunderstood, or perhaps Chris was planning a surprise. Either way, it seemed to matter little now. Janet was gone and she wasn’t going anywhere anymore. Janet had seemed a little quiet on their last evening together, but Emily certainly didn’t remember being scared for her well-being at any point. The evening had been pleasant and happy on the whole. They’d shared food and drinks with their neighbors, and for a brief instant it had been like old times again. They’d all been just friends laughing and talking in the warm evening air.
She heard movement from upstairs as Michael stirred. She hadn’t wanted to wake him this early as he often had trouble sleeping. One of the drawbacks of his profession, she had always felt, was an overactive and over-worked mind, as his thoughts just never seemed to shut down and rest. She would often feel him rise in the middle of the night as she slept. He would ease out of their bed and head down to his den in the basement. The lower level was still under decorative construction. He had been making his own home cinema and games’ room down under the house. Weekends were spent lugging large boxes of varying weights down the narrow stairs. The process was sound tracked by his shouts and curses as the boxes wouldn’t fit easily. He’d installed a HD projector and screen, along with reclining seats. There were poster-displaying frames lining the corridor and the staggered steps were currently being painstakingly fitted with tiny blue LED lights. She knew that the project had been a dream of his for several years. Back in their old apartment, he’d spent many evenings scanning the internet and compiling endless images and plans for his vision. He was a man still very much haunted and scarred by his less than affluent upbringing. She would know him to take a larger candy bar than necessary, or even two, due to the nature of his childhood. His family were careful and frugal because of necessity; it was a hangover that had lasted throughout his adulthood. The little luxuries in life that he could now comfortably afford were always painfully dragged from his imagination and wallet.
She moved back into the kitchen and switched the kettle on again. Unlike her, Michael had no taste for coffee, and still stuck to the most English of morning rituals, a mug of tea to start the day. She made the pot and waited for his shuffling footsteps to enter. They had been here several months now, and she was still a little intimidated by the amount of space that they had at their disposal. She did not look back fondly on their cramped apartment back in England, and she didn’t posses a pair of rose-tinted glasses that allowed her to alter the past. There was no “best of times” bullshit about their past life; their home was tiny and insufficient, commuting was a major chore, and they’d left no real friends behind when they’d emigrated. She’d already found more friends and acquaintances since the months following the move than she had in the years previous. Janet’s suicide was the first negative experience that they’d suffered since their arrival, and she deeply promised herself that she would not allow it to affect them now.
She checked the clock again and decided to get showered and dressed. She passed Michael in the hallway as he entered the kitchen. “You look rough,” she greeted him.
He grinned through bed-head hair that was getting long. She’d nagged him to get it cut, but he was persisting with what he described as an early mid-life rebellion.
“Thanks a lot,” he yawned as he walked to the teapot brewing.
“And get a haircut, you hippy,” she called back to him, smiling as she ascended to a steamy shower, one to help both wake and steel her for the dark day ahead.
The churchyard was packed to bursting, and it seemed to Emily that pretty much everyone in town was here. She scanned the crowd, noting the familiar faces; Justin Gaunt the butcher, Morgan from the deli, and Eddie the tram driver. Even the school had closed for the day, and her fellow teacher, Sarah-Jane, as well as the headmistress Olivia Thirlby, were in attendance. Casper Christian was holding court with the handyman, Kevin Darnell, and the sheriff, Gerry Quinn, who were both paying close attention to whatever it was he was saying.
Emily wore a full length black dress that had been packed away in the attic, unused and not needed due to the weather. It was a little fusty and she was glad this morning that she had somehow managed to avoid the dreaded morning sickness. She’d felt a brief stab of selfishness when having to pull on the heavy garment on such a warm day, but she pushed it aside quickly, appalled at her own thoughts. Michael stood beside her, squirming uncomfortably in a suit and tie. Despite his handsome appearance, she knew that he hated to dress in such a manner. She flashed him a soothing smile that he reciprocated.
She watched the parade of townsfolk, heads bowed and faces blank, terrified of portraying life within death’s setting. She had often thought that funerals should be tales of remembrance, happy stories sprung from memories past and aired in public for smiles and laughter. Death was not always the end, she thought soulfully. Those that we love live on and linger i
n our minds and prayers. She had not been raised with a particularly religious hand. Her family had attended church services as a matter of appearance within the small community in which they held sway. Her parents had never expressed their own beliefs as far as the existence of a god was concerned. Her own faith was limited at best. After the accident that had robbed them of a child, it was easy to believe that there was no one looking over their shoulders and standing protectively with wide encompassing arms. It was often said that God moved in mysterious ways, but she was damned if she could figure that move out.
The service inside the church had been blissfully short as the interior was hot, humid and unfortunately not air-conditioned. The long wooden pews were jammed full of townsfolk paying their respects beneath high ceilings and tall windows. Emily noticed that the interior was simple and elegant; there were no expensive grand gestures aimed at praising an insecure God. The church was immaculately maintained and cleaned, a gentle apple blossom perfume hung in the air, and the wood gleamed with effort and polish. Michael had never been particularly religious; they had not attended a church back in England, save for the occasional Christmas Eve service that seemed more magical than religion-based. Both of them had been concerned about America’s reputation for right wing religious fervor, but they had yet to experience any sign of it in Eden.
The church was near the outskirts of town and not on either of their regular routes, and before the funeral, they had yet to meet the local deacon.
The grandly named Landon Sheldon-Wilkes was a thin, reedy man somewhere in his late sixties. He looked healthy and hearty with a friendly white-bearded face and crystal blue eyes. Emily had thought that many a woman must have gotten lost in the eyes of a younger Landon. He had greeted her and Michael warmly with a firm handshake, and the other hand placed on their shoulders in a comforting gesture.
