“I’m so sorry,” Clare whispered.
I was very guarded about my relationship with Neil, and besides, my feelings at times were still very raw when I dwelt on them, and I certainly wasn’t going to now.
I just said that we had grown apart, and we eventually wanted different things and had become different people and that is why I had decided to have a complete change and move many miles away to start anew.
I did however, tell her about my recent ventures and about the short-term contracts that I had completed in my counselling profession and where.
Clare did seem genuinely interested. She went on to ask the obvious I suppose. Did I have a boyfriend or a partner in the wings as it were? I said not now. I was quite happy to be single for the time being, without the complications of a partner in my life. I did say that Neil and I remained friends, and that when he was coming down this way, he said that he would come and visit and take me out to lunch, but this had not happened so far.
When Ian came back home, I had a bit of banter with them and then politely took my leave.
Although I hadn’t given much away about myself, I was pleased that Clare did seem to be trusting me more, and I hoped that we could become friends, like I was with Alison, and maybe I could be on hand occasionally to help her out with baby Crowther, when he or she arrived.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Clare’s mum Pam was now staying for a few days and so that relieved us from our neighbourly rota.
Neil had actually rung me to inform me that he was coming down to a furniture sale in Winchester and was going to be staying over at a hotel in Easterly. I had asked Neil if he would mind if Alison and Chris joined us for dinner at the Red Lion, in Easterly which was known for its good food and welcoming atmosphere. Neil agreed. It was a therapeutic evening out. Combining Neil’s and Chris’s sense of humour made Alison’s and my ribs ache with laughter, and I loved it.
The three of us did have to excuse Neil’s mobile phone ringing and his texts coming through on a regular basis. On one occasion we witnessed a barrage of angry words in Russian. Alison raised her eyebrows at me and we had to stifle our giggles. No wonder Neil must come over to his factory at regular intervals, I thought to myself.
In the following days, which turned into weeks, I didn’t see much of Clare and Ian. All I knew was from Mary was that Clare had felt well enough to go back to work, but was just carrying out light duties and Pam had now gone back home.
I did briefly see Ian one evening on his way back in to the foyer, when I was on my way back out to meet Grace. We were going to see what was on at the cinema and then go for a quiet drink.
Ian approached me and asked if I would like the opportunity to take on a few hours each week, in my counselling capacity. Apparently, one of the surgery’s main counsellors was soon to retire. I jumped at the opportunity.
Ian explained that I would still have to go through the interview process with the Trust Board, but he would give me a good referral, thus giving me a good start. Ian said that he would let me know the following day when the interview was arranged for.
It was two days later that I came back from shopping to see an unstamped envelope that had been posted through the door, and opened the official looking document. Straight away, I saw the surgery heading. My interview was to be the following day at ten thirty a.m.
I was pleased that during my shopping trip I had thought ahead and bought myself a pretty cream blouse to go with my formal looking grey suit. I was also pleased that the hairdressers that I went to had agreed to fit me in at short notice the following morning at nine a.m. for a wash and blow dry.
I made sure that I was up early and at the hairdressers on time. I came back home and started to get myself ready for the interview and made sure that I set off for the surgery in good time. In fact, I was too early but hoped that this would be noticed and work in my favour.
As I sat in the waiting area, Ian popped his head round the door and wished me luck.
My stomach felt like butterflies. It was quite daunting as “Natasha Cunningham” was called into the Trust’s Board room.
There sat three very serious looking professional people opposite me, with a large table between us. They each introduced themselves in turn. There were two men and one woman, with pens poised over their writing pads, waiting to make notes on my every answer to the questions which they were going to present me with.
Each one had a different set of questions, which I tried to answer as best I could. When I was asked finally if I had any questions, my mind just went a blank which I worried would go against me.
The good thing that I felt would go in my favour was, having been in quite a few temporary positions and in various organisations, that did give me a strength in my level of experience.
As the interview came to an end, I politely rose and shook hands with each of them and thanked them for inviting me.
On my way out of the door, it felt as though my legs would buckle under me as they felt like jelly. It hadn’t been unpleasant, but I knew I could only be prepared to a certain extent.
Before I had left the room, the chairman had said that one of them would be in touch with me by the end of the following week.
Over the next week, I packed in as much activity I could. I made sure I went and had a good exercise down at the gym each day. I spring cleaned the flat, even though it was now well into autumn. I planted out some daffodil bulbs for the following year. In between, I met up with Grace more than once.
It was now Thursday morning and Mary knocked on the door and asked if I would like to go and have a cup of tea and cake with them, which I gladly accepted.
I did notice that Mary had said during the conversation, that she thought that Clare had started to look pale and tired again, and at almost six months, it did seem strange, but neither of us wanted to dwell on that.
The following morning, I woke up a lot later than usual and I had been in a heavy slumber.
It was around nine thirty a.m. and although it was now well into December, the sun was streaming through the French windows and was good to wake up to.
I arose sleepily and decided to have my breakfast on the settee and watch the morning news. Just then, I heard the flap of the letterbox open.
I moved towards it and sure enough there was a letter, face down with the surgery’s stamp on the crisp white envelope. My stomach churned as I slowly bent down to open it.
My heart missed a beat as I read through the contents of the letter. In fact, I read through it two or three times before I believed that I had been successful in my application to the surgery.
The letter was signed by Mr L Simmonds, head of the Trust, and it was stated that I was to start on the Monday.
Excitedly I rang Jayne first and then Grace. I even texted Neil. I dared not to try to send him an email as Oksana’s English was improving rapidly and she would recognise my name. He did reply and said that he was pleased for me, probably immediately deleting the messages for his own sake and peace.
When I was showered and dressed, I decided to go up and see if Alison was there and share the good news with her. I noticed her car was still in the driveway.
As I made my way out of the front door of my apartment, I became aware of Ian and Clare slowly making their way down the stairs, so I stopped and waited.
“Well done Natasha,” Ian suddenly said, and in response, Clare gave me a slight smile and nodded.
Clare did look ill and extremely tired. Ian had a small vanity case of Clare’s in his hand, and with it a much larger bag, presumably with clothes inside.
Ian noticed me looking at the bag, and said, “I’ve had a word with the specialist and he has advised that Clare must now be admitted to hospital for long-term bed rest.”
“You take good care,” I said to Clare and stroked her shoulder lightly. “I’ll pop in and see you when you feel up to visitors.”
That was the last time I saw Clare pregnant as tragedy was to follow
and dark clouds were on the horizon and not just for her but for me as well.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I kept busy over the Christmas period. Jayne and Tom accepted my offer to come up to me for Christmas for once and I had my first stay in the box room, which didn’t seem too bad at all.
It was lovely to see Callum who by now was in full voice and I had the pleasure of watching him open his presents from Santa at six in the morning!
When Jayne and I snatched a few minutes of “girly” time, I told her about Clare, and Jayne being Jayne and a very protective friend, told me to watch my back as Clare seemed a very unstable and unpredictable character, and looking back, I wish I had taken more heed of her warnings.
When I went back to work after the Christmas break, I made my new year’s resolution to get into a good routine and stick to it, and not to neglect my fair bit of socialising in between.
I saw quite a bit of Ian, and although my thoughts were naturally with him and Clare and their unenviable situation, it just didn’t seem right just to turn up and see Clare at the hospital, especially as I had not been invited during conversation. I had sent flowers and a card in the meantime.
To be honest, with the days still being short of daylight, I didn’t see a lot of Mary and George.
In the lighter evenings, especially in summertime, I would see Mary and George as I arrived home, sitting on one of the benches at the front with a mug of tea in their hands soaking up the evening sunshine, surely not at this time of year! It was now early January and I am sure we all hoped for a good start to the New Year.
It was around three days into the New Year when I arrive home work to find a scene that made my blood run cold.
On the landing above were bunches of flowers, cards and a little teddy bear with a heart in its hands lined up outside Ian and Clare’s front door. I didn’t have to be a genius to work out that something disastrous had happened at the Crowther’s and I could only conclude that it must be to do with Claire. There had been nothing said at work, but I did notice that all Ian’s appointments had been cancelled until further notice and he was nowhere to be seen at the surgery, but in no way, had I suspected the worst, which looked as though it was now hitting me in the face.
I was on my way up to see Alison. Not to be nosey but I didn’t want to put my foot in it and I knew that something bad had happened. Was it Clare that something drastic had happened to, and not the baby? I really needed to know and would rather hear it from my close neighbours and friends, than via some feedback at work.
As I shut my door and made my way across to the staircase, I saw Ian on his way down, and he stopped midway when he saw me, and called over to me asking if he could have a word with me.
“Of course,” I replied and made my way over towards him.
I put my hand on the oak handrail as I stepped on to the first stair and began to ascend to where Ian was still standing.
I noticed that Ian looked drained with tiredness and his eyes were sunken. His demeanour seemed deflated and a look of desperation seemed to pour over him.
Ian started in a gentle but controlled voice. He told me the dreadful news that Clare had been on continual bedrest but the specialist and other Doctors, couldn’t seem to regulate her blood pressure. The medical team had already decided that Clare should be induced early when it was safe to do so, especially with her medical history of miscarriages and the IVF attempts and that time was crucial, but that cut off time had not been reached yet.
Then came the worst event possible before the agreed date had been reached, the baby had stopped moving, and it had become painfully apparent that the baby had died; and was stillborn. Clare was just over twenty-nine weeks-in, and had to undergo a gruelling birth to bring their much-loved baby girl into a world she would never see or grow up in. Tests were being carried out, Ian told me, to see why this had happened, but they were not conclusive yet, and it was a mutual decision that Clare should recuperate physically at home, but this would not heal the emotional scars.
I eventually spoke, “Words fail me,” I flustered. “I can only try to imagine how you both must be feeling and to have to go through the indescribable ordeal that you have, is just horrendous.”
Ian said with a slight smile, but with conviction, “That is why you care; such a good and natural counsellor! So many people, although meaning well, say thoughtlessly, ‘I know what it must be like, I know how you must be feeling etc.’, when they don’t know a damn thing about it.”
Ian suddenly continued, “Then, on the other hand, people get the idea that because you are a doctor, that you don’t suffer your fair share of tragedy, almost as if doctors are immune. It’s almost as if a doctor’s life is like a textbook,” Ian then gave a huge sigh. “I am so sorry,” Ian said apologetically. “I went off the deep end there and bombarded you with my venting of anger.”
“Not at all,” I replied sympathetically. “You are both grieving, and you are both going to feel a complete cocktail of emotions and feelings and one of those is most certainly going to be anger.”
My hand was still resting on the bannister. I did on occasion, suffer dizziness; especially after one of my migraines, which fortunately, I rarely had these days. Nevertheless, today had been a perfect recipe for an attack to come on, and I needed to steady myself on that large staircase, and particularly stood on the spot for some minutes. The significance of this is what was to happen next and would, although seemingly quite insignificant to me, change my next few months into a hell that I became trapped in.
Ian started to talk again. “We have named our daughter, Tamara.”
“What a pretty name,” I responded.
“Clare and I will be having a formal service, to say goodbye to our baby, and you will be welcome as the other neighbours obviously will be, if you feel you would like to,” Ian continued.
“Yes, of course I will come and if there is anything whatsoever that I can do to help, just let me know, I’m always here,” I reassured Ian.
It was at that moment that Ian’s hand covered mine, as I had been resting it on the bannister for support, and after a few seconds, patted my hand with his, almost affectionately. But as I have just mentioned, that seemed harmless enough, and given the circumstances I would never have possibly read anything into it.
“Maybe,” said Ian, “You have built up a rapport with Clare, and being a counsellor, you could perhaps let her talk to you, when she is ready?”
I smiled, but was non-committal. I felt quite uncomfortable about the situation, especially as I was sure this wasn’t ethical, especially by the BACP standards, and I wasn’t trained in bereavement counselling. However, I’d cross that bridge when and if I came to it.
As Ian lifted his hand off mine and turned to go down the rest of the stairs, there was a loud slam of Ian and Clare’s door. It was closed with such force that it made me jump.
Unbeknown to us, their door had been ajar, and it would come to light that it was Clare who had slammed it shut.
Ian himself seemed to confirm it, when he added, “I’m sorry, that must be Clare. I’ve kept you talking and I’d promised Clare that I would quickly go down to the car and get the rest of her belongings, saying that I would be only two minutes.”
Then he briefly added, “Well I’m not back at the surgery until Clare’s mother comes back which won’t be for two days yet, so I’ll see you then.” With that he hurried down to the car, and I changed my mind about going to see Alison that evening. I descended the stairs now, gripping the bannister in desperation and sadness for them both.
Those previous few innocent moments and perfectly above board, as far as I was concerned, exchange of conversation and condolences, were to pay a price and would turn my life into a living hell, would also be the cause of a death, and eventually endanger my life.
Chapter Twenty-Six
When I briefly saw Ian at work, I naturally asked him how Clare was, and if I could take her some flowers that afternoon. Ian assur
ed me that that would be fine and assured me that he thought she would be glad for my company.
I went into a florist’s and bought a bouquet of mixed roses. This seemed appropriate for these would have a more personal touch and would be wrapped as an individual request.
When I arrived home, I went straight up to Clare’s. I knocked softly on the door as I didn’t want to wake her, if she was asleep and resting.
Eventually Clare came to the door. She did look ill. Her complexion was grey and wan and the delicate skin underneath her eyes looked puffy, with the many millions of tears that she must have shed. I noted that she did look quite dishevelled. Her nightwear looked as though it hadn’t been changed for a few days and there was what looked like tea stains down her front. Her usual immaculate and tidy blonde hair, looked greasy and stuck to her head. The way Clare just stood looking through me, I knew this wasn’t the right time to say much and so I just uttered softly that I just wanted her to know that I was thinking of her, as we all were. The door was then just shut in my face without a single word.
It was a bit of a shock, but then understandable under the circumstances I supposed, and people reacted in different ways in such situations. I was quite surprised that her mother seemed to have gone back home so early.
I wasn’t at all prepared for her reaction towards me, nor was I prepared for the shock the next morning.
The following day, I wasn’t due to go into work until ten thirty a.m. and so I just took my time getting ready, pottering about the apartment.
As I came out of the flat and was turning the key in the lock, I saw Molly, the district nurse from the practice. She came down the stairs with a broad smile. Then came the shock, as I became aware of what Molly had, draped over one arm – it was the very same bouquet that I had bought for Clare.
Molly looked at the flowers and then at me. “Aren’t they lovely, exceptionally so?” Molly asked rhetorically. “I’ve just told Clare that she didn’t have to get me anything, but she wanted to, and Ian very kindly went and bought them last night.”
Through the Dark Keyhole Page 10
