Seven Days: The Complete Story (44 page)

He squeezes my
hand. “Sounds like a plan. He is both of our best friends. We can’t
let wonder boy get offended thinking we’ve forgotten him.”

“And I want to
name the baby after you. Without the Clayton part, so he’ll be
Nicholas Joel Lawson. We can call him Nicky or Nick.”

He squeezes my
hand again. I see pain in his eyes as he attempts to swallow.
“Sadie?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry for
what I said. I didn’t mean any of it. It’s not your fault.”

I put a finger
to his lips. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”

“If something
happens, I want you to go with Joel. He loves you. He always loved
you. He’ll look after you.”

“Nothing is
going to happen. Apart from the fact that you’re going to get well
and we’re going to get married. You promised you’d never leave
me.”

“I’m trying
hard to keep that promise.”

“I love you,
Nicholas.”

He sucks in a
ragged breath. I can see he’s tiring. “I… I loved you… from the
first moment… I laid eyes on you. I… never wanted… anyone… the way…
I want you.”

“Rest,” I
whisper.

“I could
never… love anyone else… Come here…” I lean forward over his body.
My lips are so close to his I can feel the heat from them.

“Closer,” he
whispers.

Then he kisses
me full on the mouth. I know it hurts him. I can see the agony on
his face when we separate, but I feel the love too, a tremendous
love that I’ll never let go of.

We sit for a
while after that. I take the baby and reposition him on my chest to
keep him warm. I hold Nicholas’ hand while he dozes. I kiss his
eyelids in turn and smooth his hair from his brow. I run my finger
along his cuts, willing them to heal. And I pray. I’ve never been
one for praying, so I hope God understands.

In the time
that follows, I whisper everything I ever wanted to say. I tell
Nicholas how much I love him. I tell him about the blinding desire
I feel for him, how he made me physically quiver the first time he
kissed me. I tell him how hard it was for me to leave that time at
the lighthouse and then how hard it was to begin our relationship
again, knowing that one day I’d hurt him. I never dreamt I’d hurt
him like this, though. I tell him how I almost fainted that day in
the office when I found out he was my boss, how damn hot he looked.
The tears streak down my face as I remind him about the day we held
hands in public for the first time, when I found out I was pregnant
and when he asked me to marry him. And as I sit and talk hours drag
on and I feel his hand go cold in mine. I know it’s over.

Nicholas is
gone.

In the days
following the death of Nicholas, I fall into a despair like none I
could ever have imagined. It’s brought upon not merely by his
passing but by the fact that early on the first day I receive an
enormous bouquet of flowers
⎯
peony roses,
lilies and white lilac
⎯
all my
favourites. I turn the card between my fingers. I don’t need to
open it to know the flowers are from Nicholas. The police told me
that on the night of the accident, he’d been running across the
road from the florist. The driver didn’t have her headlights on. He
must have been distracted.

I can’t blame
the nurses for what happens next. They don’t know who the flowers
are from. They don’t realise it’s a card from my dead lover that
reads,
I’ll never leave. I’ll love you forever
and that
reading those words will send me into a frenzy of screaming and
howling. My lashing out at the nurse and kicking her leads to
sedation. They’re saying I’m a danger to myself but I’m protecting
what’s mine. Them trying to remove that bouquet from my room is not
the wisest of moves. I need every bit of Nicholas I can have now
he’s gone. They should know that.

And now I am
numb.

I have no will
to live.

I have neither
Nicholas nor Joel. I have nothing.

I want to
die.

I lie in the
bed staring at a black dot on the roof, wondering how it got there.
Feeling macabre, I decide it’s a splodge of blood, escaped when
someone burst a vein. I do not talk or eat or sleep. I put on
Nicholas’ t-shirt, that somehow got packed in my jumble of things
and I replay the last voice message he sent me over and over,
committing each word to memory. Finally, the battery on my phone
dies and because I didn’t have the foresight to bring my charger, I
can’t listen anymore. But I’m so afraid if I don’t keep listening
I’ll forget how he sounded. I’m scared his smell will fade and I’ll
be left with nothing but an old t-shirt. The hole around me gets
bigger the more I contemplate the thought and I sink deeper and
deeper into the quicksand.

I don’t want
to climb out.

I want to
die.

On the second
day, Emily arrives with a clean change of clothes, so I can at
least get out of bed while the nurses change the sheets. Not that I
care about sheets. Or clothes. She bustles me into the bathroom
making one-sided conversation. I don’t complain when she undresses
me because there are no words left in me. Even when she turns on
the shower and washes my naked body, I say nothing. Somewhere in my
head, my brain registers that this is odd, that I should be
appalled that my friend is bathing me but I’m not. It’s not until
she sits me on the old lady shower chair and begins to wash my hair
that the tears come. Rivers of tears, enough to fill a dam. They
send shudders of pain coursing through my body but they do not
release the grief. And of all the memories that could make me cry
it’s the one of Joel washing my hair that first morning I moved
into the house with him and Nicholas that sets me off.

After I’m
dressed and Emily has done my hair in a side braid, an orderly
brings me a tray.

Geez, is it
lunch time already? Surely, the hours can’t pass so quickly when I
am alone.

I stare down
at the tray. There’s a roast with gravy. I love roasts. There’s
apple crumble and a milkshake. I didn’t order this. I didn’t order
anything because I don’t want anything.

I want
Nicholas.

“You have to
eat something,” Emily pleads. “For the baby.”

I know her
tricks. She’s taken the lid off the lunch hoping the smell of roast
lamb will entice me to eat. What she doesn’t realise is that my
sense of smell has shut down. The only scent allowed to fill my
nostrils is the ever decreasing scent of Nicholas from his t-shirt,
the one that’s under my pillow. I push the tray aside and go back
to staring at the ceiling. Hopefully, if I ignore Emily long enough
she’ll leave and I can die in peace.

Then Valerie
brings baby Nicky for his feed and bath. He’s been in the nursery
since Nicholas passed. I cannot bear to look at him. I cannot bear
to think that he and I are the cause of Nicholas’ death. I roll
away, facing the window.

“Take him
away.” These are the first words to leave my lips.

“But he needs
you, Sadie,” Emily says. “He needs his mummy and you need him. Just
hold him. Please.”

“No.” I get up
from the bed and go back to the bathroom, shutting the door behind
me. On the other side, I hear them discussing me.

“She needs
more time.”

“The doctor
has called a grief counsellor.”

“What’s the
point in a counsellor if she won’t engage?”

Exactly.
What’s the point of anything?

I wait in the
toilet until I hear them leave. Then I go back to the bed and
continue my examination of the ceiling. It’s the one thing in my
life that will be there when I wake up.

The third,
fourth and fifth days are much the same. Emily comes. Emily goes.
The nurses try to make me eat or bathe the baby or feed the baby
but I’m tired. I don’t want a baby. I want to sleep because when I
sleep I can be with Nicholas. If I die I can be with Nicholas.

On the sixth
day I have a visitor. It’s Mr Lawson.

Not my Mr
Lawson.

The other Mr
Lawson.

He pulls up a
chair to the side of the bed. I stare at him for a minute,
imagining he’s Nicholas, they look so alike. It doesn’t make me
feel any better because I don’t feel anything at all. I am devoid
of feeling. It’s easier that way. I stare at him some more and I
think of the relationship Mr Lawson never got to have with my
mother. I’ll never have a relationship either. I wish he’d go
away.

“Hello Sadie.”
There are shadows under Mr Lawson’s eyes. He looks ragged and
unkempt, the way Nicholas looks when he’s been working all night.
It’s sad. Very sad.

“The funeral
is tomorrow,” he tells me. “I’ve ordered a car for you. Emily has
offered to bring you a dress.”

Shouldn’t be a
bother for her. She has a whole wardrobe filled with black dresses.
The grief has unleashed the cynic in me. I like the cynic. She’s a
bitch in the way I never am.

“You needn’t
bother. I’m not going.” I roll away, showing them both my back. I
pretend I am asleep.

They sit in
awkward silence and then, after about ten minutes, Mr Lawson stands
to leave. As he does a nurse and doctor enter the room and the
little cohort moves to the other side of the curtain.

Clearly, to
discuss me.

I might be
choosing not to converse but I am not deaf or stupid.

“What
medication is she on?” Mr Lawson asks. I have no idea when he got
to be my keeper. He’s not my father-in-law, he never will be. What
right does he have to control when I die?

“Valium.”

“Is that
wise?”

“She has been
somewhat aggressive toward staff.”

“But she’s not
eating or speaking?”

“No. We’ve
tried everything. We may have to run an IV drip to stop
dehydration.”

“What about
the child?”

“Sadie
experienced a deeply traumatic episode. She’s rejecting everything
and everyone around her. She feels somehow responsible for
Nicholas’ death and I believe she’s blaming the baby, too. She
thinks if she hadn’t gone into labour, your son would not have been
run over buying flowers.”

“That’s
ridiculous. Nobody blames her.”

“She blames
herself. The brain does strange things when a person experiences
trauma.”

“The girl is
mentally unstable. Her mother was much the same. Committed suicide
a couple of years back— ”

If my mother
were unstable it was only because of what he did to her.

They lower
their voices and I strain to listen. I can’t believe they have the
cheek to talk about me like I’m not here. They’re talking about
changing medications, upping doses, psychiatrists and involuntary
commitment. Surely, they can’t do that? Don’t they need my
permission to put me in a mental health unit? I do not need to be
in a mental health unit.

“—I’m going to
apply for temporary custody of the baby. Sadie is in no position to
care for a child at the moment. I can’t stand by and see my
grandchild neglected when I have the resources to do something
about it. It’s what Nicholas would have wanted.”

I sit up in
bed. How on Earth does he have any idea what Nicholas wanted? I am
Nicholas’ fiancee. Baby Nicky is our baby and nobody is going to
take him away from me. Sure, I might have been a bit cuckoo the
last few days— okay, a lot cuckoo—

but
that baby is mine. Mine and Nicholas’. I will not let anyone take
him.

Engulfed in a
rage so strong I fear I may self-combust, I swing the curtain back.
For the first time in almost a week, a wave of clarity washes over
me. My head is no longer fuzzy from the valium. My body is tingling
as if I’m waking from the most awful nightmare, only I know it’s
real. I don’t want to kill myself. I want to go home with baby
Nicky and plan the life that Nicholas and I dreamed of. I want to
show my baby the brilliant things his father did and built. I want
to tell him stories every night and watch the first time he kicks a
goal at footy. I want my life back. And yes, I’ll miss Nicholas
every day, but I’ll get through it like I did when Mum died. I’ll
have the life I wanted. Slamming my suitcase shut, I perch myself
on the end of the bed. The people on the other side of the curtain
jump in surprise.

“Get out!” I
yell. “All of you, get out. And bring me
my
baby. Now!”

“Sadie.”

I walk to the
wardrobe. I take out my suitcase and begin to pack my things.

“Where are you
going?” Mr Lawson asks.

“As far away
from you as possible. That baby is mine. He’s the one part I have
left of Nicholas and you will not have him.”

“Calm down,
Sadie,” the doctor says.

“NO! I will
not calm down. I am not some freaking nutcase, I’ve lost the man I
love most in the world and you’re talking about taking the only
piece of him I have left. I’m discharging myself and my baby
now.”

They take a
step away. I think they’re worried I’ll throw something. But I
won’t. I’ve just experienced my first bout of maternal instinct,
that’s all. With adrenalin hyping me to the max, and every thought
and sensation heightened so I finally see clearly, I will protect
my baby to the death.

“I don’t think
that’s a good idea,” the doctor says.

“Why? Am I
under arrest? Am I being forcibly committed to a mental unit.”

Because
they’re behaving like it.

“No.”

“Is the baby
healthy enough to leave?”

“Yes. He’ll
need weekly checks for the first two months until you reach your
due date but your paediatrician can do that.”

“Then I’m
leaving. As soon as Emily gets the car, I’m leaving.”

I can’t
believe I’m making my escape from prison in Alex’s car— of all the
people.

*****

The BMW has
soft leather seats. I sink into them, my little bundle of Nicholas
snuggled to my chest. He’s snuffling like he’s trying to talk to
us. It’s very cute. A long time ago I remember reading about how
stress is alleviated by a hug and thinking how Nicholas and Joel
could do that to me. I wish they were here now to alleviate my
worries, to make me see everything is gonna be alright. I feel
drained and exhilarated and very, very emotional. I am about to
spend my life alone.