Please Release Me (21 page)

Peter touched his forehead. ‘Oh, you know how it is. The wife beat me up.’ He smiled at his own joke. Except of course, it wasn’t a joke.

‘Stop being facetious Peter. How bad is that?’ She was reaching for his forehead. He pulled back.

‘I’m okay, Mum. Honestly. I had a bit of a fall at the party last night. I toppled into a statue. It’s no big deal.’

‘You’ve got cuts all over your arm and face.’ She stretched his arm out and examined it. ‘It looks like a big deal. Did you have these cuts cleaned?’

‘Yes. They had a very good first aider there. He and Grace sorted everything out.’

‘Grace? Your friend from the hospice.’

‘Hmm.’ His mother’s apparent recognition of Grace surprised him. He had mentioned her only in passing. Had Val mentioned something to their mother about Grace? He hoped not.

‘How drunk were you?’ said Diane, still examining his arm.

Peter gave a small laugh. ‘I’m not as hungover as I look,’ he said. ‘I just need to have a shower and get into some clean clothes, and I’ll be as good as new.’

Diane nodded and reluctantly let go. ‘I’ll make you some breakfast for when you come down. Then you have to tell me all about what happened.’

Peter headed up the stairs. Later, he stood under the stream from the shower and let the previous night wash off him. Who was he trying to kid? He would never be as good as new. He’d seen the madness of his wife. And he’d alienated the one woman he really wanted. An ache settled in his gut. He knew now, without a shadow of a doubt that he loved Grace. He even loved that she didn’t argue with him when he told her he couldn’t see her. She understood. What an idiot he was not to see that Sally had been playing him for a fool all this time. And how did he not realise that he loved Grace? Now that he did realise, what next? He was married to Sally. Peter tilted his face to the water and groaned.

When he got back downstairs he was greeted by the smell of bacon. ‘Mum, you’re an angel.’ He sat down to the bacon and baked beans his mother set down on the table. ‘You read my mind.’

She sat down next to him, a coffee cradled in her hands, and watched as he attacked his plate.

‘So,’ she said after few minutes. ‘Want to talk about it?’Peter took another mouthful and lowered his fork. He hadn’t told anyone other than Val about Sally and Grace. Perhaps he should. ‘It’s… a bit weird,’ he said.

‘Okay.’ She was watching him with a gentle expression. Suddenly he felt about ten years old.

‘Mum. Can you promise you’re not going to go crazy?’

‘Darling I—’ She stopped when she saw his expression. ‘I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now, but I’ll do my best to understand.’

So he told her. About Sally’s gambling problem, about the argument that crashed the car, about the guilt and the fear, about everything apart from the ghost. It flowed out of him in a torrent of emotion and sadness. His mother listened, quiet and absorbed, just like she’d always done.

‘So, in the end, she wasn’t at all who I thought she was,’ said Peter. ‘She lied to me about all these things.’ To his surprise, there was pain behind his eyes. He blinked. ‘The Sally I thought I knew was … well, she never really existed. It was just an act for my benefit. I was such an idiot.’ His vision was blurring. He clenched his fist around his fork, impatient at himself. ‘I feel …’ He lost the battle with emotions and a tear rolled down his cheek.

‘Like you’re losing her all over again?’ Diane finished for him. ‘Oh darling.’ She stood up and wrapped her arms around him.

‘All that time I sat next to her bed and hoped and prayed and wished for her to come back. All that pain and heartache and guilt.’ He said into her shoulder. ‘I loved her Mum. Really loved her and she’s gone. She never even existed in the first place. Which is worse.’

Diane held him. The familiar smell of her perfume and hairspray reminded him of being a child. Of comfort. Of safety. For a few minutes he let himself lean on her and fall apart. Diane patted him on the back and laid her cheek against his head. ‘Oh, my darling. If only I could have spared you this, I would. We tried, but you were so in love.’

Peter froze. ‘You tried?’ He pulled himself away and scraped the tears off his face with the back of his hand. ‘What do you mean, you tried?’

His mother looked uncomfortable. ‘When you first brought Sally round to see us, I … didn’t feel she was right for you. Neither did Valerie. We talked about it and Val said she’d talk to you.’

‘But I just got annoyed with her and told her to butt out of my business.’ He remembered the argument all too well.

‘Sally was everything you thought you wanted,’ said his mother. ‘I thought she was calculating and fake. I felt she wanted you for the wrong reasons. She didn’t seem that interested in what you wanted and … I just couldn’t imagine her ever having children, could you?’

Come to think of it, no, he couldn’t. God, how could he have been so stupid. ‘I can’t believe I fell for it so completely,’ he said.

Diane smiled. ‘I can. She was very pretty and I’m sure she could be very persuasive when she wanted to be.’

‘I guess.’ He picked up his plate and headed over to sink.

‘What are you going to do about Grace?’ said Diane.

‘Grace? Nothing. I don’t know. She probably won’t want to ever see me again.’ The thought felt like lead in his heart.

‘That’s a shame,’ said his mother.

Peter paused. ‘Pardon?’

‘Oh, come on darling. It’s obvious that you like Grace. And she likes you. She sounds like a very nice person. A very … genuine person.’ Diane stood next to her son and put a hand on his arm. ‘Apart from all that you’ve just told me, you’re wife has been as good as dead for a year. No one would blame you if you started forming other … friendships.’

This was his mother. Straight down the middle, Scruples-R-Us mother. ‘Mother, are you suggesting I be unfaithful to my wife?’ Amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth.

She took a breath. ‘I … wouldn’t normally …’

‘What if Sally wakes up?’

‘What if she doesn’t? You need to move on. Accept the possibility that she may never wake up.’

Except of course, she already had, in a manner of speaking. He stilled, trying to sense if she was in the room. Still nothing. ‘I wonder where she is.’

Diane misunderstood. ‘We all do, darling. We all do.’

Sally watched the nurses changing her catheter bag and changing her. They chatted about their lives and loves and generally handled Sally’s body as though it were an object. Although they addressed it occasionally, it was as a matter of training. They didn’t expect her to hear.

They tucked her back into the newly changed bed and brushed her hair out so that it lay in a brown fan on the pillow. One of them checked the machines, did the obs while the other messed around changing the water for the flowers. It all took a few minutes and they were gone.

Sally felt the enormous loneliness of being invisible. She watched herself lying there and thought about the difference between someone unconscious and someone dead. The difference was barely noticeable, but it was there. Even the useless body on the bed had something in it. Life. It was a complicated thing. A body and a consciousness, each useless without each other.

Sally felt the sudden need to be with her body. She plonked herself on the bed and lay down. She frowned. Something was different. She carefully shifted herself so that she was in line with her physical body. As arms and legs and middle fell into place, there was a feeling of something changing. A feeling of something being right.

Suddenly, there was a blast of sensation. She could feel neurones firing from all directions. There was heat, there were sounds, there were smells and there was pain. Dear god, there was pain. She screamed.

Her body seemed to suddenly realise she was there. Glands kicked stuff out into her blood. Her heart started to race, just as Chloe’s had done.

‘No, no, no.’ Sally tried to slow things down, but that only made things worse. The machine next to her started beeping. People rushed into the room.

With a little effort, Sally managed to disassociate herself, partially, from herself. She lay there, half in, half out of her body, waiting for the heart to settle down. The room was filling up with doctors, someone had a defibrillator out. It was like something from ER. Except without George Clooney.

Without her to mess things up, her body settled down. The heart monitor went back to pinging gently. The medical staff were still babbling, standing around the bed. Sally ignored them. Now, she had an idea.

Grace fidgeted as she waited for the lift to reach Margaret’s floor. The decision to go away, once made, was exhilarating. Grace had spoken to her manager who was considering it. She wouldn’t normally be allowed to take six weeks off. Being a senior scientist came with responsibility. She caught herself assessing her team trying to figure out who could take on which aspects of her work.

Then there was Margaret.

Now that it came to telling Margaret, she was starting to feel guilty. Margaret had no one. If Grace disappeared for six weeks, that would be six weeks where no one visited her. As Grace strode along the corridor Harry’s father, pushed in his wheelchair by Harry, came out in the opposite direction. The old man was muttering to himself.

‘Morning Mr French,’ said Grace.

He gave her a nod and grumbled. ‘That woman is very rude.’

‘Oh stop it, Dad,’ said Harry. ‘You love it.’ He gave Grace a grin. ‘I’ll see you some other time, my darling, I need to get on. Come on Dad. Let’s get you back to your castle.’

Grace waved to the father and son as they hurried off down the corridor.

Margaret was lying propped up on her bed. Grace noticed that she looked well. Her eyes were sparkling and there was a small blush of colour in her cheeks.

‘What are you reading?’ said Grace, pulling a battered looking paperback towards her to read the cover.

‘Oscar and Lucinda,’ said Margaret.

‘Again?’ She knew Margaret had read that at least three times before.

The old lady shrugged with her good shoulder. ‘So, what’s going on with you, young Grace?’

‘Actually …’

Margaret’s good eye narrowed. ‘Yes?’

‘I’m … er … thinking of taking your advice and going away for a bit.’

‘Oh, excellent. You’re going on holiday. About time too. Where are you going? How long for?’ She seemed genuinely pleased.

‘About six weeks, if I get the time off work.’

‘Oh.’ For a moment, Margaret’s face clouded. When she looked back up, the sadness was gone. ‘Well, you deserve it.’

‘And you don’t mind?’ There would be no one to visit and chat and pretend to sneak in a shot of port for her.

Margaret’s gaze met hers. ‘Of course I mind, I’ll miss you. But that shouldn’t stop you going. You need to stop letting other people’s needs dictate your life. That includes my own needs. Just get on with it, Grace. I’ll still be here when you get back and you’ll have more interesting things to tell me.’

‘I’ll try and find someone else to read to you,’ said Grace, feeling wretched now.

Margaret gestured weakly at the tape player. ‘I’ve got the lovely John Turnbull’s voice for company. I hate to tell you this, but his is much more soothing than yours. Besides,’ she added, with a smile, ‘that Mr French is coming to see me again tomorrow.’

‘Harry’s Dad?’ She must have seen them when they were returning from Margaret’s room. Good old Harry, true to his word. ‘How did that go?’

‘That man is just insufferable,’ said Margaret. ‘I’ve never met such a miserable old curmudgeon.’ Her eyes took on their sparkle again.

Margaret’s demeanour didn’t agree with her words. Perhaps she enjoyed having some different company after all. ‘Did you enjoy their visit?’

‘Absolutely,’ said Margaret. ‘I like a man who can handle a bit of verbal combat.’

Grace shook her head. If Margaret was being visited by Harry and his father, at least she needn’t worry about Margaret being lonely. She pulled out the latest audiobook she’d got out of the library.

‘So, if you’re thinking of going away, that means things aren’t going well with your young man.’ Goodness, Margaret didn’t miss a thing.

‘He’s not my young man,’ she said, automatically. He definitely wasn’t now.

‘What happened?’ It wasn’t so much a question as a demand for an answer. Grace eyed Margaret. For all her frailty, Margaret was a hardy soul and would probably not be surprised by anything. Even a ghost. Perhaps she should tell her.

Margaret was still watching her, waiting for a response. Grace pulled her chair closer. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll tell you, but you’ve got to promise not to laugh.’

Margaret didn’t laugh. Instead she said, ‘How interesting. She’s a ghost to all intents and purposes, but she’s not dead. Makes you wonder if there is such a thing as a soul.’

Grace was surprised. She hadn’t expected that. ‘You believe in ghosts?’

Margaret rolled her eyes. ‘When you’ve been sitting around for as long as I have, you’d be amazed at the things you can believe in!’

Margaret’s support had surprised Grace and lightened her, as though the responsibility of visiting Margaret daily had somehow been weighing her down. On the spur of the moment, she’d ordered a Kindle and made a wishlist of novels set in modern day Sri Lanka to load on it. A Kindle. Her father would have been apoplectic. She wondered how he would feel about her going back to see his roots. She suspected he would have been proud. He was always proud of her. He was always proud of where he came from too, despite never going back there once he’d married. He spoke of ‘home’ in glowing terms, telling her about the island’s beauty and fecundity and showing her pictures in the big coffee table books that she hadn’t had the heart to throw out.

She dug those same books out now and settled down in the living room, with a mug of tea, to look at the pictures and work out what she wanted to see while she was there. She was engrossed in reading about the cultural triangle when a small noise made her look up. Sally was sitting on the sofa opposite her, watching. How had she not noticed the chill? She was about to comment, when she realised that something was different. Sally’s appearance never changed, her hair and make-up were always frozen in time from the day of the accident. But something in her demeanour was wrong. It was little details, the way she was curled up in her seat, the downturned corners of her mouth, the lack of bravado. All these gave off the impression of defeat. For the want of a better description she looked … haunted.

‘How long have you been here?’ said Grace.

‘A while.’ Sally didn’t move from her position nestled in the armchair. ‘You look happy.’ She raised her chin in the direction of the book that was on the table. ‘Looking at your dad’s book?’

If she needed a time to tell Sally, now would be it. Grace drew a deep breath. ‘I’m going to go there on holiday. ‘

Without Grace around, Sally would be utterly alone. She felt as though she was abandoning her.

‘That sounds nice.’ There was no enthusiasm in Sally’s voice.

Grace waited for Sally to voice her opinion. She always had an opinion on everything. None came. Sally seemed preoccupied, as though she wasn’t really paying attention.

‘Are you okay?’

Sally finally made eye contact and Grace was shocked to see the fear in her friend’s eyes. ‘Sally, what’s wrong?’

‘I need a favour.’

‘Okay. What is it?’

‘I want you to let me talk to Peter. Just one more time.’

Oh no. Not this again. She thought she’d made everything clear. No more possessing. ‘I told you—’

Sally held a hand up to stop her. ‘I want to say goodbye.’

‘What?’ The implication was that Sally was going somewhere. Perhaps she’d decided to go and live in the casino permanently. Or found another ghost to hang out with. ‘Where are you going?’

Sally rolled her head back dramatically and stared at the ceiling. ‘I can’t carry on like this anymore. No one can hear me. No one can see me. I’m turning into my mother. And Peter doesn’t love me anymore.’

‘Sally …’ Where to start? Did Peter not love her any more, or was it Sally being over dramatic again? Grace could understand the horror of realising that you’d nearly killed the man you love in a fit of anger. But what did she mean by ‘turning into her mother’?

‘If I could come back now,’ Sally continued as though Grace hadn’t spoken. ‘If I could come back now, I might be crippled. I’ll have crap hair and crap skin and I’ll probably pile the weight on as soon as I eat a bit. And there’s the risk that parts of me might have been ruined by the accident. Oh, Peter would stick by me. Everyone will. But that would only be because they felt they had to. I would be the object of pity.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘And I’d be revolted with myself, lying there weeing and crapping into a bag. It’s disgusting.’

‘You might not have anything wrong with you,’ Grace suggested, not sure how to steer the conversation back to something positive. If Sally were to die, properly, Peter would be a widow, free to be with someone else. But then what? Just because he was able to see someone, it didn’t mean that he would want to see her.

‘You don’t know that,’ said Sally, still staring at the ceiling. ‘Peter doesn’t look at me in the same way he did before. So what have I got left? There’s nobody who would miss me.’

Okay, now Sally was just feeling sorry for herself. ‘You’ve got your friends …’ she was about to say ‘Your mum,’ but resisted just in time.

‘I haven’t got any friends,’ said Sally. ‘Never really bothered with them. Except you.’ She looked away again. ‘And look what happened there.’

No. she was not going to have that conversation again. Grace shook her head. ‘So, what are you saying?’

‘If I died now, I’d just be the girl who was cruelly and tragically snatched away on her wedding day. Her man grieved for her for over a year and finally, she died. It’s a beautiful and aching story.’ Sally made a sweeping gesture with her hand.

Sally was going for the full tragic heroine now, like a teenager in full strop. Grace decided she wasn’t in the mood for that either. ‘Sally, that’s all very well, but you’re stuck as ghost. You can’t die just because you’ve had enough.’

‘Yes I can. I know how to do it and I want to go while things are still looking good for me. It’s a far far better death that I have now … you know, what that Sydney guy said.’

‘It’s a far far better thing I do now than I have ever done before?’

‘That’s it.’ Sally sat up, suddenly animated again. ‘What do you say? Will you let me talk to Peter, so that I can say goodbye.’

The sudden change of mood put Grace on her guard. What if the whole ‘I want to die’ thing was just a trick to get her to agree? Sally was clearly stronger now than she had been before. What if she’d figured out a way to stay in Grace’s head?

She gazed thoughtfully at Sally, who leaned forward, waiting for an answer.

‘No,’ said Grace.

‘What? Why not? It’s just for me to say goodbye to my husband!’

‘No. I said no and I meant it.’

Sally rose to her feet. Grace braced herself for a barrage of abuse. Without taking her eyes off Sally, she gripped the edges of the book harder, preparing to use it to deflect whatever Sally was going to throw at her.

But the abuse never came.

‘Okay,’ said Sally. ‘I suppose I can understand that after what happened. I just want to say, thank you, Grace. For letting me hang out with you, and taking me to talk to people and all that stuff. You’re not the sort of person I’d normally talk to. It’s been interesting getting to know you.’

Grace blinked, not sure what to make of that speech. ‘Um … okay.’

‘And I really am sorry about the whole thing with the statue. I lost my temper. I shouldn’t have.’

This wasn’t like Sally. There was no bluster. No insistence that she was right. What was going on? Grace looked at Sally’s face again and saw something she’d never seen in her before. Calm. As though she’d found something she’d been looking for. There was sadness too, but mostly, she looked … calm. Somehow that was more creepy than the barely controlled rage vibe that Sally usually gave out. ‘Sally, what’s going on? You’re starting to scare me.’

‘I’m a ghost.’ Sally gave her a thin smile. ‘It’s what I do.’

She drew herself up and clasped her hands in front of her. ‘Do me a favour, Grace?’

Grace hesitated, still wondering if this was some elaborate trick of Sally’s to get what she wanted. ‘What is it?’

‘Look after Peter.’

And Sally disappeared.

Grace stared at the spot Sally had just vacated. What was that all about? She ran through the conversation in her mind. Without the suspicion that she was being tricked, she realised the melancholy of what Sally had said. It wasn’t a trick. It was a farewell.

But how? Had Sally figured out a way to die? Would that even work?

She pulled out her phone and called Peter. ‘Where are you?’ she demanded when he answered.

‘Grace? I’m at work.’ He sounded surprised.

‘You need to get to the hospital.’

‘What? Why? They haven’t called—’

‘Sally’s up to something. I’m not sure what, but I think she’s going to commit suicide.’

‘Commit …’ He stopped. ‘That’s ridiculous. She’s in a coma.’

‘I know how stupid it sounds.’ She grabbed her handbag and fished about for her car keys, the phone wedged between her jaw and her shoulder. The phone beeped as her cheek made contact with the screen. ‘She just came and gave me a long speech about how it was nice knowing me.’

‘Are you sure she’s—’ said Peter.

‘Peter! I’m going to the hospital. Before she does something stupid.’ She hung up on him and ran to the car. She couldn’t let Sally just slip away like that. For all the problems they had with each other, Sally was still her friend. As she slammed the car into gear she realised, that she’d miss Sally. Without her around the house would always echo, just like it had done before. Without Sally, Grace would be alone again.

Sally drifted back through the places in her life. The house she and Peter had furnished. The old flat which was now full of someone else’s stuff, the bedsits, the shared houses until eventually, she stood outside the small house she’d grown up in. She’d stood there before, looking up at the house and feeling that same mixture of loneliness and loathing that she’d carried with her, ever since her father died. No wonder she’d left when she could. Sometimes it was less lonely being alone.

The house was empty. The residents were presumably out, doing whatever menial jobs they could find. She stepped through the door. A few steps in and she looked up. In front of her was the stairway where she’d found her father, hanging from a short rope, his eyes and tongue protruding. She could almost see it. ‘Dad?’ she said, just in case his ghost was hanging about still. She waved a hand through the space his body had been in.