Death be Not Proud (16 page)

It sounded impersonal and terse. If he read it at all, it should at least achieve its purpose. I checked it before clicking “Send”. That done, I would have to decide what to do for the rest of my life, now that he could no longer be the focus of it.

I tilted my chair onto its back legs and swung back and forth, chewing at my cross, the chain strung across my chin as
tight as the nerves holding me together. Just about anything would do other than stay here, dragging everyone else down with me. I had my work obligations, of course – especially to my students. I did feel bad about letting them down, but I could resign from the university without too much difficulty, even given such short notice. It wouldn't take much to persuade a doctor – or even better, a psychiatrist – that I bordered on the edge of sanity. The college wouldn't oppose it; the dean would be too scared I'd sue for compensation. And I would have to go a long, long way away. I'd always fancied a trip to New Zealand – kiwi farming, perhaps.

I thwacked the chair back onto all four feet and shoved my hand out to tap a search into the laptop, knocking a small stack of books off the back of my desk as I did so.
Blasted things!
I bent sideways and rifled under my desk, trying to retrieve them. My fingers found the edge of a book; I didn't need to look to know what I picked up.
Wretched, cursed book, haunting me.
I suddenly remembered that I had effectively stolen the journal and that it had to go back where it belonged, and guilt released in me a tide of invective I screamed into the book's blank, black face, while I rocked rhythmically on the chair. “Why can't you let me go? Let me
go
,” I whimpered, clutching it to my chest, my heart beating erratically against it, feeding it my life. The clock in the church tower opposite began to strike and I swayed back and forth with it. Who was I kidding? I wasn't going anywhere – not like
this
. I dragged myself to my feet and, ripping his scarf from around my neck, let it fall to the floor without a second glance.

 

Years had passed since I last set foot inside St Mary's Church, but the smell of old stone and recently extinguished candles and incense remained the same. I didn't know why I came
here, but this was where my legs had taken me when, blinded by misery, I left the house. As I sat numbly watching the strengthening glow of the lurid streetlamps force their way through the church windows, I couldn't be sure that Staahl hadn't been right all along. I searched, but couldn't locate the well of faith that had been my guide ever since I knew it was there to steer me. Where was God now when the roots of that faith lay exposed and shattered by my betrayal? I had left Matthew when he needed me most, when he needed someone who could accept him for who he was. No wonder he lied – he had been protecting me from a bigger truth – one nobody in their right mind could accept.

At the far end of the nave, the cross rose from the altar as the timeless guardian of my faith, and I cried out into the body of the church, seeking comfort. But I heard nothing, saw nothing, felt
absence
. Staahl must have been right – I was alone.

After a while I became aware of the strange, thin, keening sound filling the high columned space, and a moment more passed before I realized that it must be I who made it – an empty sound, devoid of hope, lost.

A sigh – like the sough of wind through tall grasses.

I looked up. I sat alone but for the constant hum of traffic outside – and something else – something as indiscernible as the movement of air. Stock still, I followed the sound, and there above the altar, where the single candle burned as token of Christ's living flame, soft wings beat against the glass.

Out of place, out of time.

But in the frail spectre of the butterfly lay the promise I had all but forgotten:
I have carved you upon the palms of my hand,
and I no longer felt alone. I had never been alone and, while I searched blindly in the dark for my faith, I failed to look at the eternal light inside me.

 

By the time the elderly sexton came to secure the church for the night, I had drawn two conclusions: first, I would return the journal to its rightful owner even if it meant going back to the college to do so and, second, I needed professional help to prevent my inexorable slide into a nervous breakdown. As my mental state crumbled in stages, I decided that time was probably of the essence and, before my determination dissolved along with my ability to make decisions, I would go back to the hospital in the morning. The journal would have to wait.

 

The following morning, after a sleepless night, I lay in the bath letting the deep, hot water cover me as it inched up the iron sides, steaming water pouring from the antiquated chrome tap in strangled bursts. First my stomach, then my breasts, then shoulders, the water finally making its way up my neck and over my lips and nose, my hair spreading out around me. It would be so easy just to stay there, submerged and warm where the world couldn't touch me and I wouldn't have to face tomorrow, or the next day, or the next.

My lungs began to strain and ache as they searched for oxygen, but it was my scar – stung by the hot water – that had me sliding back upright. I ran a finger down the thin, pale slash of the new, baby-pink skin, but it wasn't the man who put it there whose voice I heard inside my head, but Matthew, and the sound of it was
agony
.

More than I could bear.

Yes, today, I thought, is a good day to get help.

 

I dressed slowly and abstractedly. My hand did not hesitate as I chose the tailored tweed coat, leaving the beautiful quilted one Matthew bought me hanging next to the sage jacket. I took a look around the room which I had tidied earlier. The blue blanket had been folded and put away in the bottom of my chest of drawers, leaving only the scarf as a reminder of him. I picked it up from where I had let it fall the day before and ran it through my fingers, seeing it around his neck, feeling it around mine, and I hung it over the back of my chair before leaving the room.

The morning ran cold; the sky, heavily overcast, threatening rain or worse. I loved the promise of snow as a child, but it rarely came, and now it didn't matter.

I frowned as familiar heads bobbed past the window by the front door, followed by the homely figure of my sister, tucking the baby under one arm as she wrestled to find a key in her handbag. She looked up and saw me watching and waved, frantically cheerful. My reactions were painfully slow and my face immobile as I opened the front door for her. She breezed in with a flurry of cold air and children.

“Hi! Oh… were you on your way out?”

I remembered to bend my face in a smile. “Yes, I was.”

“Oh, we won't be long, then. Are Mum and Dad in? Brrr, it's bitter out there. All the kids have talked about this morning is whether it's going to snow. Honestly, it's more nuisance than it's worth; I can't see what all the fuss is about. How are you, anyway?”

She stopped talking just long enough to take off her coat, struggling to free one arm of its sleeve while holding the baby with the other. I stood watching stupidly. She noticed my arms.

“You're out of the cast – great; here, take Archie for me, will you?”

The baby was thrust into my arms and I automatically held onto him. The twins had disappeared in search of their grandparents and chocolate biscuits.

“School holidays – they're already bored. Rob's minding the shop but he'll take them out rubble-cruising to the battlefield later. You remember doing that with Grandpa, don't you, Em?” Beth took out the hangers from the hall cupboard, hanging up the children's coats from where they draped abandoned on the banister. “You're quiet; everything all right?”

Archie did a rolling burp and I patted his straight back. He smiled, his little cheeks rosy from the cold.

I answered mechanically with someone else's voice. “I'm fine. It is cold, isn't it?”

“Yeah – it is.” Beth eyed me suspiciously. “But you don't need this on, young man, do you?” She took Archie from me and unzipped his all-in-one suit with the rabbit-eared hood. He rubbed his fist in his eyes and yawned, showing the edge of a tooth in a pink gum. Beth nuzzled his ear and he gurgled happily. “I'm gasping – join me for a cuppa?”

“Well…”

“Aw, c'mon, it won't take long. You can tell me what you've been up to, and I'll tell you all about Archie's teeth and the twins' school reports – just like old times, huh? Bet you can't wait!”

She was in such a good mood that I hadn't the heart to rush away. The hospital would wait for another hour.

I followed her into the sitting room. When we were little, Beth and I would sit, legs bunched and giggling, on the two deep window sills squirrelled behind the long velvet curtains. Nanna and Mum would pretend they couldn't find us until they eventually lured us out with talk of buns and chocolate milk in theatrical whispers. Now we sat on the old sofa like the adults we were supposed to be while Alex and Flora each sat on a window sill cross-legged, dunking biscuits into their milk.

“Aren't you going to say hello to Mum and Dad?” I ventured, wanting to move the process on as quickly as possible. “I thought you wanted a cup of tea.”

Beth adjusted her bottom comfortably and plumped Archie down between us, his legs sticking out stiffly in front of him. He gazed at me with his saucer-like eyes but he hadn't
begun to cry yet, which was probably a good thing since I would have joined in.

“I'll see them in a mo. What've you been up to, then? I like your get-up – very elegant; where were you off to in such a hurry?”

I frowned. Elegant – was it? Did it matter? Outside, an elderly couple walked slowly past the first of the windows, partially obscured by Flora's dancing curls. By the time they reached the second window I could see a plastic shopping bag with long rolls of wrapping paper; it must be nearly Christmas. I struggled for something to say, something approaching normality.

“Shopping – I haven't done much for Christmas, Beth. How about you? Done all your shopping yet?”

I tried to inject some enthusiasm into my voice, but it still sounded flat to my ears. Beth noticed. “I've told Rob he's doing it this year, but I expect I'll end up doing it as usual. Are you sure you're OK? You do sound a bit… off.”

“Absolutely fine. I'll go and see Nanna too, while I'm at it.”

“So you're going to the care home? That's a long walk; still, she'll like to see you.” She flattened Archie's scrolled hair with the palm of her hand. “Em, Mum said Guy's been in touch.” When I didn't react, she went on. “She says he wants to see you. Will you?”

What was Guy to me now? Another life. Irrelevant.

“Dad's dealt with him.”

She glanced over the back of the sofa at the twins but they were happily engaged in playing a sort of hide-and-seek with the curtains, the only visible evidence of the biscuits and milk a smudge of chocolate and cream around their mouths. They weren't listening.

“It looks to me as if you could do with getting away from here for a bit – get some sun.”

“Perhaps.”

She stretched, her plum-coloured jumper riding up above her waist, showing her pale skin with shiny silver stretch-marks. Archie lunged forward and I caught him as he began to topple.

“Well caught,” she commented. “Golly, what I wouldn't do for a bit of winter sun. Sun or snow – don't care, it all sounds good to me.”

I admired her capacity for life; even with three young children and her own business, she still found the energy to be interested in it.

She pulled her jumper back down. “Still, you haven't said what you're doing for Christmas. What are you going to do?”

I thought of the shopping and the decorations, the carols and the food, and felt crushed by the expectation of joy it placed on me.

“I don't know. I'll stay here probably, and then…” I trailed off, indifferent to the options open to me.

The children had evolved their game, which now included the occasional passer-by who used St Mary's Place as a short cut. It involved a lot of giggling and a fair degree of bouncing up and down on the window seats, waving wildly.

“That lady's going shopping and she's going to buy a newspaper… a turkey, er… and a Intergalactic Battle Cruiser.”

“
An
Intergalactic Battle Cruiser, Alex,” Beth said without looking at him.

“
An, an, an
…” sang Flora, waving at the woman. “She's waving, look, look, see… she waved to me first!”

Beth turned around on the sofa to watch them for a second.

“You're not making nuisances of yourselves, are you?” she said with that low, almost threatening tone mothers use with their offspring, in much the same way as dogs growl at their pups when they're stepping out of line.

“Naw, she's
smiling
, Mummy.”

Archie found the big buttons of my coat and tugged at them curiously. I looked down at him and he stuffed his hand in his mouth and grizzled before resuming the investigation with a wet fist.

Beth persisted. “So when are you going back to the States? I take it you
are
going back, aren't you?”

Flora's voice rose above our own. “They're going to the shops to buy…”

“Shh, Flora, not so loud,” her mother said.

“I have to go back – there's something I need to get done, and then…”

“… Christmas decorations, three French hens and…”

“A Barbie up a gum treeeee,” sang Alex. “Beat ya, beat ya, wouldn't want to eat ya! They're waving to
me
. Nah, nah!”

A couple were unlocking their car in one of the residents' parking spaces opposite the house. I recognized them as neighbours from two doors up. They waved at the children before climbing in.

“The neighbours won't be talking to us if you two carry on like this,” Beth warned.

“They like us, don't they, Emma? Go on, say they do,
please
,” Flora begged.

I spoke over my shoulder, keeping an eye on Archie, who began to tug hard at a button. “Yes, they do, Flora.”

“Can't think why,” Beth muttered. “And then?”

“And then… what?” I'd lost the train of thought.

“You were saying you're going back to the uni, and then…”

“Oh, right, then – I'm not sure – but I'm thinking of taking a sabbatical.” Why hadn't I thought of that sooner? It seemed a perfect solution. “Six months, maybe a year. To New Zealand.” I could hide in New Zealand. I could be nothing – not a sister, or a daughter, not a lover, nor a friend. Not a disappointment.

Beth pouted. “All right for some. Can you do that – I mean, will they keep your job open for you?”

Excited squeaks came from the windows. “It's snowing, look, look! Emma, Mummy,
look
!” We both looked; outside the sky had darkened to a solid slate above the roofs, and big, soft, mushy flakes fell lumpenly until a gust of wind herded them together before scattering them randomly once more. Without reason, my pulse quickened. Alex pressed his nose against the glass, his breath misting the space in front of him instantly. “It's settling on the cars.”

“Aw – no it's not, it's melting,” Flora mourned.

I remembered where we were in the conversation. “They should do; I haven't had a sabbatical since starting work, so…” I looked up again as the wind picked up, now driving sleet against the thin glass, and I rubbed a hand across my chest where my heart thudded noticeably. Beth wiped dribble off Archie's chin and the baby fought her hand.

“You OK?” she asked me.

I didn't mean to sound impatient. “Fine, you don't need to keep asking.”

Behind us, the twins were chanting, “Snow, snow, snow… ally, ally aster, snow fall fa-ster…” as if invoking a weather spirit.

“Sorry, it's just that you look strange, a bit…”

The children stopped chanting and resumed their game.

“
He's
going to the shops and he's going to buy…” Flora shouted.

“
Flora!
” Beth half-turned to rebuke her overexcited daughter. “No, Em, it's just you've gone a funny colour.”