Among a Thousand Stars

by Jo Bartlett

  ‘I love you more.’ The devastation in Tom’s voice would have touched the hardest of hearts.

  ‘But I love you most.’ It was fitting, Isobel having the last word and these her very last of all.

  ****

  Sadly, as Ashleigh had already acknowledged, real life is often completely divorced from that depicted in the movies. Death, it seemed, was no different. It would have been beautiful, in its own way, if Isobel had slipped away in Tom’s arms following that last declaration of love, but tragically and painfully it was far more ugly and brutal than that.

  Despite the protestations that she couldn’t wait to be with Robert, something in Isobel just wouldn’t allow her to let go. The doctors said she had the heart of someone half her age, despite the leukaemia and its gruelling treatment. All those long walks on the beach with Bertie and his predecessors had clearly kept her fit. Ironic, then, that the same routine should eventually hasten her death.

  The young Irish nurse had instructed Tom on how to administer the morphine and had told him not to overdo it. There wasn’t quite a ‘wink, wink’ or a ’nudge, nudge’ with the instruction, but the implication that the regular administration of morphine might speed up the inevitable and offer the ultimate form of pain relief, was apparent none the less.

  Twelve interminable hours passed and still Isobel held on. When the time came to change shifts and the pretty, Irish nurse headed home, a humourless staff nurse began trying to move Isobel’s position in the bed. Despite being in a coma, she whimpered in pain.

  ‘What the hell are you doing that for?’ Tom’s face was red, a muscle pulsing in his cheek.

  ‘If we don’t move her she’ll get bed sores.’ The nurse spoke to him as though he were a child.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, she’ll be dead by tomorrow, so what difference will bed sores make?’ Tom moved between his mother and the nurse.

  ‘Mr Rushworth, please, I’m just trying to do my job.’ She looked like someone who knew from bitter experience when to back away from irate patients or relatives. Her austere bedside manner no doubt resulted in more than an average number of altercations over the years.

  ‘We know and we’re sorry.’ Ashleigh suspected she was the sort of nurse who might respond best to a bit of flattery. ‘We’re so very grateful to you all and we know how much you’ve done for Isobel. But she’s dying, and she’s so peaceful when she’s not being moved, couldn’t you just leave her please? ’ She hesitated, as the nurse seemed to consider her suggestion. ‘I know that a nurse like you, someone with your wealth of experience, must have made these kinds of decisions before.’ She was laying it on thick, desperate for Isobel and Tom not to suffer any more than they had to.

  ‘Well it’s not protocol, but, as you say, as a senior nurse I can use my discretion.’ She tapped the side of her nose, as though she’d just given away a state secret or let Ashleigh in to some insider trading. ‘I’ll leave you all in peace then.’

  As the nurse left, Tom turned to Ashleigh. ‘Thank you. I know I handled it badly, but I just couldn’t stand it. I don’t know how I would have got through all this without you.’ He was beyond despair and it was obvious he’d barely slept since his mother’s accident. ‘I might even have ended up being carted off by security for slapping her if you hadn’t stepped in.’

  ‘It’s a normal reaction. If someone I loved was hurting I’d go in all guns blazing too.’ Ashleigh took Tom’s out-stretched hand; she’d done just that very thing, but protestations of love were the last thing he needed to hear.

  Those last few hours with Isobel felt like the longest of Ashleigh’s life. There were no other visitors. Tom told her that Maureen had been in when Isobel was first admitted, but couldn’t bear to see her sister like that and he’d insisted that his mother wouldn’t want her friends or other relatives to see her in her state either. Ashleigh had asked Tom if he wanted to be alone with his mother, but he’d told her that he wanted her to stay. Needed her to. The three of them held hands as the hours dragged on.

  Isobel’s lungs had filled with fluid and continued to do so, despite the medical staff’s attempt to drain them. A sickly sweet smell, like rotting petals, filled the air.

  The morphine driver working overtime, Isobel finally took her last breath as the sun rose. The monitors droned and nursing staff took over, whilst Ashleigh and Tom waited outside the room so that the tubes could be removed and the body made ready for its final journey.

  ‘Thank you for being here. You’ll never know how much you’ve helped and how much it means to me.’ Tom pulled her into his arms, the strength of his embrace taking her breath away.

  ‘I wanted to be here for you, if you needed me.’ Her words were muffled against his chest; he was still holding her as though he couldn’t let go.

  ‘I did need you, I still do.’ It was as close as Tom had ever come to declaring his feelings and his usual control was put to one side. ‘Do you think you could bear to come back in with me… to say goodbye?’ He drew back slightly to look at her. It would be difficult, but she sensed he couldn’t do it without her.

  ‘I’m here, as long as you need me.’ Ashleigh’s words echoed her promise to his mother from hours before. It was hard to believe that she was gone, a scary reminder of how fragile everyone, and life itself, really were.

  ****

  Isobel looked serene by the time they re-entered the room. Her eyes were closed and crisp white sheets, folded neatly across her chest, with her arms by her side, made it appear for the entire world like she was sleeping. Only her chest was still and her skin was already colder as Tom took her hand in his. Silent tears slid down his face. He’d lost the only woman in the world he had ever loved and it was almost too much to bear.

  Ashleigh sat next to him, her arm around his shoulders offering some comfort as the tears turned to sobs. They didn’t speak and there were no final words he wanted to say to his mother. He’d said all he needed to before the light in her eyes had gone out and now he’d never get another chance. They just sat for a long time until his eyes were raw from the outpouring of sorrow that had shocked him with its intensity. He knew there would be fresh waves of grief washing over him as relentlessly as the tides at Sandgate, for months to come and he wasn’t sure if he could stand it.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Tom couldn’t face going back to his mother’s house that first day. He’d eventually have to, start making decisions; not least about Bertie, who was currently staying with the neighbours and to whom his Auntie Maureen had reluctantly offered a home. Sending Bertie there would be like an elderly childless-by-choice relative taking on an orphaned child. His days of freedom, sofa surfing and gambling merrily along the beach would be over, likely replaced by an enclosure in the garden, an electric anti-barking collar and perhaps the odd walk around the block if he were lucky.

  They spent that first night in the flat. Hollowness filled the space where his heart used to be. It was as if he’d been given a numbing injection, just enough to take the edge off and allow him to keep on breathing. Insisting that he needed to eat something, Ashleigh had prepared her speciality of toasted cheese sandwiches and they’d eventually fallen asleep side-by-side on the sofa beside the fire.

  The next morning the numbness started ebbing away. It was a relief at first, to feel something, but there was a lump in his throat that no amount of coffee could shift and a growing realisation that this was the first day of many without his mum in his life. They’d both been fairly independent, not living in one another’s pockets, but each had always known that the other was there.

  He’d been glad of the powerful jets of water in the shower, washing away the fresh tears that hit, unexpectedly, just because Ashleigh used the same brand of shampoo that his mother always had. They had a lifetime of memories together and, if something as mundane as a brand of shampoo was going to set him off, Tom was terrified he’d never stop cryi
ng.

  ****

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’ Ashleigh, who had woken early and managed to extricate herself from Tom’s tangle of arms and legs on the sofa, was already washed and changed and pouring him another cup of coffee.

  ‘Would you mind?’ His eyes, red-rimmed as they were, were still one of the best things about him. He had a way of looking at her like she was the only person in the world he wanted to look at. It was what made her believe they could make it; hopeless romantic that she was. Who needed words of love when a look said so much more? She’d promised Isobel that it would be enough to feel it and not hear it and she wasn’t about to break that promise. ‘You must have a million other things to do. I’m probably stopping you working as well.’

  ‘I have an understanding boss.’ They exchanged a brief smile. That first meeting in Tom’s office, finding out he effectively had the power to determine her career, felt like a lifetime ago.

  The journey from her flat to Isobel’s house took less than ten minutes. On the way Tom pointed out landmarks that triggered more memories of his mum and told Ashleigh their stories. There was the cafe on the seafront where she took him every Friday after school, come rain or shine. Isobel always had a pot of Earl Grey tea and Tom an ice-cream sundae. There were the public baths where she’d taught him to swim and the park where they’d fed the ducks, walked Bertie’s predecessors and she’d taught him how to ride a bike. It seemed all his happy childhood memories were of the two of them and they were everywhere he looked.

  Going into Isobel’s house felt warm and welcoming, like she was there in spirit. In truth, the heating was on a timer and the winter’s chill had been banished with clockwork regularity. Her newspaper, folded on the arm of the chair with the reading glasses still on top, added to the feeling that she was still present. Tom turned away to wipe his eyes and Ashleigh longed to hold him; it was going to be a difficult day.

  Seeing the man she adored so devastated was much harder than she would ever have believed. Swallowing her own emotions like boulders in her throat, she took control – deciding that too much too soon would be more than he could stand. The bare essentials had to be done and the rest could wait for another time. This wasn’t a day for making big decisions about the house, for writing to let people know or for clearing the decks and taking bags of possessions to the charity shop. There was time enough for all of that later. What they had to do was to choose an outfit for Isobel, which Tom could take to the appointment at the undertaker’s, to turn off the heating and water and, most importantly of all, to make a decision about Bertie’s future. Thankfully, Tom’s Aunt was picking up the death certificate from the hospital and going to register the death. She would also meet Tom at the undertaker’s and had then offered to set about contacting everyone who needed to know.

  They decided against anything formal for Isobel to be buried in. Tom said he thought she would want to spend eternity in something comfortable. They chose some black trousers and an apricot coloured cashmere jumper, as Tom couldn’t bear the thought of her being cold. He’d also decided to give the undertaker Isobel’s locket, which had been taken off at the hospital. There was a picture of Tom on one side and Robert on the other and she had worn it close to her heart every single day.

  ****

  The couple who lived next door to Isobel – Graham, an architect, and his wife Karen, a dentist – had willingly taken Bertie in. They’d done so not only to help out, but with the vested interest, Karen explained, of seeing how the children were with a dog in the house, having nagged their parents to get a puppy since the Christmas before.

  ‘Wow, it’s the first time he’s reacted to anyone.’ Karen raised her eyebrows in astonishment as Bertie greeted Ashleigh like a long lost friend, licking her hand and recognising her as the supplier of bacon from Christmas Day. ‘He’s been pining terribly, the kids tried to get him to play but he just sat in his basket looking sad.’

  ‘We’re so very sorry about your mum. Isobel was such a lovely neighbour to have, she doted on the kids you know, such a shame she never got to have grandchildren of her own.’ Graham shook Tom’s hand and Ashleigh flinched. His well-meaning words would have hurt Tom, just as they had unwittingly tightened the lump in her throat. ‘We would offer to keep Bertie for you, but he just seems so unhappy here.’ Graham coughed awkwardly. He didn’t give the impression he was keen on the idea of getting a dog and the prospect of having a clinically depressed Labrador moping around the house clearly wasn’t something he relished.

  ‘Don’t worry, thanks anyway, but I’m going to take him home.’ Tom was already clipping on Bertie’s lead.

  ‘Really?’ It was the second time that Karen had expressed surprise. ‘I wouldn’t have thought your lifestyle lent itself to all that.’ She smiled. ‘I know you probably didn’t have me pegged as a Glitz reader, but I always flick through copies of the magazines that my receptionist buys for the waiting room at the surgery. She says that reading about celebrities helps to keep the patients’ minds off their impending root canal treatments!’ She laughed, as if the thought of root canal surgery gave her genuine pleasure. ‘So I know all about your lifestyle! Although, now that you’ve got a partner, there’ll be someone to share the load and help look after Bertie.’ Karen smiled again.

  ‘Ashleigh and I don’t live together, so it will just be Bertie and me but I’m sure we’ll manage.’ Tom’s bald statement winded Ashleigh. Yes, it was true, they didn’t live together but the bit about ‘it will just be Bertie and me’ was so final.

  ‘It was lovely meeting you and thanks again for having Bertie.’ Ashleigh’s voice cracked on the words, but she held herself together just enough to kiss Karen on the cheek. Tom was already halfway to the front door with a reluctant Bertie, who appeared not to want to go anywhere at all unless Ashleigh was with him.

  ****

  In the days that followed, Ashleigh listened to her heart and not her head, convincing herself that the throwaway remark about it being just Tom and Bertie meant nothing. In any case, the two of them had taken up permanent residence in her flat, at least until after the funeral, when she guessed they’d both be headed back to London. They hadn’t talked about it or about any kind of future, but they were together all of the time.

  As Ashleigh didn’t have a garden at the flat, they took several long walks each day with Bertie. They talked about anything and everything and sometimes nothing at all. The only time they spent apart was when Tom met Isobel’s sister to make the funeral arrangements and Ashleigh went alone to stock up on supplies for Bertie, who seemed to eat more than the two of them put together. It was on these occasions that she would phone Stevie for some light relief and listen to the gossip about the latest craze that Zac was into, including the belly dancing lessons he’d roped Stevie into trying.

  On the third night after his mother’s death, Tom had led her into the bedroom and the tenderness between them had been something new, as though there really was a deeper level of connection.

  By the time the day of the funeral dawned, crisp and frosty but under a bright blue sky, she really believed that what they’d shared had changed things. He needed Ashleigh more than ever and it was a burden she wanted to bear.

  Bertie was as devoted to her as he had been since the first exchange of bacon on Christmas Day and, as they set off for the church in Hythe together, the dog included, they were like a proper little family.

  Mourners were packed into the church, filling the pews on both sides of the aisle, including Angus, who’d cut short a trip back to Scotland to give Tom his support. There were a handful of photographers outside, too, no doubt hoping to capture the grief on Tom’s face, which would guarantee to sell some papers the next day. It was that human nature thing of rubber-necking, an insight into someone else’s misery could somehow make you feel better, putting your own troubles into perspective.

  ****

  Tom wa
s in his body but not really there. He couldn’t remember getting dressed, but of course he had, and everything was happening on some weird kind of autopilot; the numbness he’d felt in the first hours after her death was definitely back. It was a kind of coping mechanism, he supposed, to make the grieving process survivable. He’d need it to continue if he was going to get through the eulogy he’d written.

  The vicar welcomed the congregation, his golf shoes just visible beneath his cassock. He’d squeezed Isobel’s funeral in, telling Tom that January was always the busiest month, the cold weather claiming so many of his elderly congregation. With the departed having a celebrity son, the vicar had decided it was worth it, suggesting to Tom that a sizeable donation would be welcomed by the church and a fitting tribute to his mother.

  ‘Isobel was a vibrant member of the community, loved by many as is apparent here today.’ The vicar cleared his throat and smoothed his hair, sporting a comb over that wouldn’t even convince the dead he still had a full head of hair. ‘Although her visits to church were intermittent, Isobel expressed her faith on the occasions that we met and her belief that she would be reunited with those she loved.’ Adopting a look he evidently felt would comfort the most heartbroken of mourners, the vicar made eye contact with Tom. ‘And we can give thanks not just for Isobel’s life, but that she will now be in God’s glorious kingdom, reunited with her own parents and her beloved husband Clive.’

  Tom and Ashleigh exchanged a look and he managed a half smile. Only she really understood how ironic the vicar’s comments were.

  There were several bible readings and a hymn before the vicar finally called upon Tom to pay tribute to his mother.

  Standing in the pulpit in his black suit, shirt and tie, Tom fought hard to stay in control, although no one appeared to have noticed that he was shaking – as though giving a eulogy at his mother’s funeral was something he could just take in his stride. He didn’t care what people thought. If anyone assumed he wasn’t torn up by his mother’s death then they didn’t know him at all. Ashleigh was the one person who really knew the agony he was going through and that was all that mattered. The muscles in his face tightened as he struggled to hold it all together, just wanting to be alone with her again, so that he could be himself and let the emotion out.