An Impossible Dilemma: A Psychological Thriller Novel, page 5
“You seem bright-eyed, my baby.” I bent to kiss Emily’s cheek before patting Frank on the shoulder. "Where's Jon?" I asked, glancing around the room.
"Already gone,” Frank said.
"Aw, he didn't say goodbye, the bugger. He knows I hate it when he does that." I poured myself a glass of orange juice before sitting down opposite Emily.
"They were in a hurry. I made him and Alex some sandwiches to take. They said some walls are down on the other side of the farm or something. And they've got to dig out an awful pit,” Steph said.
I'd just taken a swig of juice and almost spurted it out over the table. I began to cough and laugh, wiping my mouth on my sleeve.
It was lovely to see Frank also laughing. His pot belly bounced with every deep, chocolate coated chuckle and his laughter made me laugh even harder. Emily also joined in.
Stephanie stared at us as though we'd gone mad.
"What? What did I say?" she said, looking at each of us in turn.
Her confused expression made me laugh even harder.
"An offal pit you mean—not an awful pit—although your name is probably more fitting," I managed to say eventually.
"Oh, I wondered what they meant,” she said and laughed with us.
I ate a full English breakfast, the first meal I'd enjoyed since this nightmare began.
Afterwards, I left them all playing cards while I went into the office. Business at the clinic had been slowly picking up again, but the appointments were mainly the ones already booked in. So we diverted the calls to the house.
I searched the Internet and found a couple of contacts regarding stem cell research. I dialled the main number, but there was no answer, so I sent an email instead.
Then I got onto some household chores I'd been putting off for ages. I stripped the bedclothes and opened the bedroom window. Taking a breath of fresh air, I admired the way the sunshine made the landscape appear more lush and green.
When the phone rang, I raced down the stairs to answer it, praying for a response to my email.
"Hello."
"I speka wid step."
"What? Oh, hold on, please," I said, sighing deeply. “Steph—phone,” I yelled.
After loading the washing machine, I began sorting through the massive pile of ironing that had been stuffed into the laundry cupboard. The phone rang, and I charged down the hallway once again.
"Hello?"
"Mrs Lyons—am—can—ad." The signal was poor and I couldn’t recognise the voice or understand what he was trying to say.
"I'm sorry, who is this? I didn't hear a word you said."
"Accident. I've called an ambulance, but he's bad."
"What's happened? Who is this?"
"This is Alex. It’s Jonathan. He's hurt. Badly."
The phone went dead in my ear.
Chapter 6
My legs felt as though they’d been hollowed out and concrete poured into each void. Every step was harder than the last. I eventually made it down the hallway, through the front door, across the path, through the gate and into the field.
"Victoria?"
I ignored Stephanie’s calls and continued walking.
"Victoria—what the hell are you doing?"
Stephanie appeared beside me and grabbed my arm.
I shrugged her off. No words would form.
"Where are your shoes? Are you all right? VIC!" she shouted.
I stopped and glanced down at my bare feet, shaking my head I turned to face her, numb with shock. Palpitations in my chest were making me breathless. The sunshine I'd admired just a couple of moments ago now blinded me as I stared at Stephanie. Still no words would form at all.
The sound of sirens rang out from the road at the back of the farm, and the situation suddenly seemed to register with Stephanie.
"Who was on the phone, Vic?"
Stephanie’s high-pitched voice sounded urgent, making my head snap in her direction.
I stared at her.
"Who was it? Was it Jonathan?" Her eyes bored into my face.
I shook my head.
"Was it Alex?"
I hesitated before nodding numbly.
"Oh, my God. Right, Victoria—we're going back inside and I'll go to see what's happening, Okay? Okay, Vic?"
I nodded again and allowed myself to be turned back towards the house. My mind raced, causing massive confusion. I couldn't concentrate on any one thing, unable to think why I felt so devastated.
Back in the house Stephanie yelled something to Frank and shoved me towards him, before bolting from the house.
In his odd, shuffling way, Frank got me to the sofa and sat down next to me. He pulled me close to him with his good arm.
Emily came into the room. She'd been having a lie down in the snug and came to investigate what all the commotion was about. She sat at the other side of me.
"Are you okay, Mummy?" she whispered.
"I think we should leave her alone, Em. She's not feeling too well." Frank said.
"Shall I get her a blanket?"
"Not right now—why don't you go back into the snug and I'll come to see you shortly," Frank said.
"I don't want to. I want to stay with Mummy.”
"Please, Em. Do it for me and stay there until someone comes for you."
"But why?"
"Do it, please."
I watched and listened to the whole exchange as though a spectator to a stage show. Once Emily had left, Frank got up and shuffled to the window.
"I wonder what's happening out there. Do you have any idea, lass?"
I shook my head and lay down on the empty seat Frank had vacated.
"Who called, Victoria? Before you went outside—who called on the phone?"
I looked at him slowly. I couldn't remember who called. I closed my eyes.
I needed to shut out his questions. They made my head hurt.
I needed to shut out the sound of the sirens.
I needed to shut out the world. Just for a minute or two.
***
The next thing I knew, Stephanie was on the sofa beside me, stroking my hair.
A memory, just beyond my grasp, kept coming close and then scurrying away before I could pin it down.
Stephanie was crying.
I sat up slowly. Frank was now perched on the edge of the armchair opposite.
"What happened?" I said, fine hair was standing on end all over my body.
She stared at me, a deep furrow between her eyebrows, before turning to face Frank. “There's been an accident. The digger rolled, trapping Jon underneath.”
"Is he in the hospital?" I made to get up, but she placed her hand on my arm.
"No—Vic—I don't know how to tell you this…" She took a deep breath. "Jonathan's dead."
Chapter 7
How could this be? She must be joking. I waited for her to laugh. For Jonathan to walk in with a cheeky grin on his face saying, "Gotcha!"
I glanced at Frank. He was smiling. Oh, no—not smiling. His face had twisted into something far from a smile. I turned back to Steph. Tears continued down her cheeks and dropped off the end of her chin.
"Oh my God! This can't be true—he didn't say goodbye." The deep pain between my ribs seemed to push all the air out of me. I began to think I'd never breathe again. My lungs felt as though they were turning inside out. I eventually sucked in enough air to enable the cycle to happen all over again.
This couldn't be. I needed him more than ever right now. He couldn't be dead. I was no stranger to this limbo-like disbelief, being somewhat experienced with death. First, my Mum. I didn’t think I’d recover from the shock of her death. At only eleven years old, I’d needed her more than ever before.
The death of my dad didn’t hit me as hard. Of course, I was devastated, but being older and no longer living at home helped. My everyday stuff had been easier to deal with. Nobody knew my dad except Steph, and I’d sworn her to secrecy. So I was spared their sympathy and pitiful glances. I had managed to forget about it until I got back to my room each night, where I acknowledged the truth and grieved alone. The reality didn’t hit me until three months later when I eventually returned home.
Now Jonathan. My sweet, caring and considerate husband. My soul mate. Best friend. What had I done to make the universe punish me like this? I had a gnawing emptiness where my stomach should be.
"Emily!" I said, standing up on wobbly legs and rushing to the snug. Stephanie followed.
Emily had fallen asleep on the sofa. Her green fleecy blanket pulled up high under her chin.
Standing over her, I froze. This poor darling was already going through hell. Shit, we all were. But she was only five years old and very sick. And now, on top of all that, she would have the heartbreak of losing her dad. Just when I’d been thinking this nightmare couldn't possibly get any worse.
I walked back through to the kitchen, leaving her to sleep a while longer. I needed to figure out how I would explain where her daddy had gone.
The phone rang, and I automatically doubled back to the hallway.
"Shall I?” Stephanie said, appearing in the snug doorway.
"It’s okay.” I picked up the receiver. “Hello, Victoria speaking."
"Mrs Lyons?"
"Yes."
"Brian here, from Stem Cells Research. I got your email, and I've replied but I thought I should follow my email up with a phone call to explain. I'm afraid we're not able to accept any applications until after the first of July next year. The Chinese government are trying to—"
I didn't hear any more as I zoned out. One more kick in the teeth, just as I'd finished telling myself life couldn't get any worse. I would never say that again. Someone up there was having a good fucking laugh at our expense. I had an overpowering urge to laugh.
Stephanie hovered to the side of me. As I glanced at her, I felt giggles bubbling up from my stomach until I could control it no longer. I dropped the phone. The handset dangled and swung, banging into the hall table. The laughter that belted from me sounded hysterical to my own ears, hysterical until it turned into choking sobs, and then I screamed.
Stephanie jumped forward and grabbed the phone. "Hello—I'm sorry—this isn't a good time right now—could you call back?”
***
Frank hadn't moved a muscle. He’d been in the same position for the past hour or so. Sat bolt upright, one arm on the arm of the chair, the other looked as though it was twisted uncomfortably to the side of him. He was staring at an invisible spot in front of his face, not seeming to notice me at all.
I turned to a sound in the hall. Alex stood in the doorway. He removed his cap as he stepped into the living room.
"I'm so sorry, Mrs Lyons," he said, his face twisted with grief, as though having a huge battle with himself not to cry.
I knew that feeling well. I nodded at him. "What happened?" I said with an unrecognizable flatness to my voice, mirroring the way I felt inside.
"I’m not sure. I left Jon digging the pit and went to get us both a drink from the truck. When I got back the digger had rolled off the bank, and Jonathan had been thrown from the cab. He was trapped underneath,” his voice cracked as he buried his head in his hands. “He was already dead.”
Steph jumped forward and put her arms around him.
I couldn't say much. A strange numbness enveloped me once again. Jonathan had died, and my baby would follow him. The stem cell treatment had been her only hope. And now that was no longer an option.
I was tired of this rotten fucking life. Maybe it would be kinder all round if I injected Emily and myself with a sedative, and just go to sleep. At least we would avoid the pain of Emily’s illness and we'd all be together again.
How could I live without Jon?
Why would I want to?
Nothing made sense without him.
I got to my feet. "I'm sorry, Alex. I need to go for a lie down.”
I left Stephanie comforting Alex and went upstairs to my bedroom. Our dirty sheets covered the floor where I’d thrown them after stripping the bed earlier. I picked them up. They still smelled of Jonathan and our lovemaking. Wrapping them around me, I climbed onto the bed.
The breeze from the open window blew the curtains into the room, and something fluttering caught my eye.
A piece of paper had been wedged between the mirror and the frame of the dressing table.
I quickly got off the bed, sheets still wrapped tightly around me. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it.
It was a note from Jonathan.
I kissed you goodbye, but couldn't bear to wake you.
Thanks for a wonderful night—you are my world.
I love you.
Jon xxx
Chapter 8
"The cars are here, Vic." Steph called through the bedroom door.
"Won’t be a minute." I glanced at my reflection. I wanted to do my beautiful man justice, but there was no denying the fact: I looked like shit.
My chestnut curls were scraped into a tight bun, which did nothing but accentuate the gaunt, widow look I’d perfected over the last few days.
Dark shadows surrounded my hazel eyes, making them appear sunken in my face. My thirty-one-year-old face resembled someone at least twenty years older today.
My black trouser suit hung off me. I’ve never been what you could call fat, but I normally had more curves than I did now. I rummaged through my drawers for a belt. Otherwise, as soon as I dropped my guard, I was sure to drop my trousers.
I smeared some tinted moisturiser onto my cheeks and applied a light coat of mascara. I had no doubt it would be running down my face before too long. Finally, I touched my lips with some strawberry lip-gloss. I would have to do.
I paused at the top of the stairs, held my breath and exhaled in several controlled blows.
“I can do this. I can do this,” I whispered. Then closing my eyes, my fingers fiddling with my locket, I said a silent prayer for the strength to get me through the day. A lot of chatter came from downstairs, and I braced myself for the rush of sympathy.
Emily and Steph came out of the bathroom behind me.
“Oh, there you are, my baby.” I held out my hand, and Emily ran towards me. I'd always hated seeing children dressed in black, and today was no exception. Steph had bought Emily an outfit for the funeral. A little black velour dress that finished mid-thigh, white tights and black patent leather shoes.
I had arranged a babysitter to start with. But Emily had begged to come, so I agreed in the end if she felt well enough.
"You ready, sweetheart? We'll give your daddy a fabulous goodbye, okay?" I flashed Stephanie a grateful smile, and she placed her hand on my shoulder briefly.
"Okay, Mummy. Will he see us?"
"You bet he'll see us." My voice sounded much brighter than I expected.
"I don't want to cry. Grandad said that Daddy wouldn't like to see me cry."
I sat down on the stairs and pulled her onto my knee. "Today's different. I’m quite certain we’re all going to cry today, but hopefully, afterwards, we'll laugh, as well. It's okay to be sad. We loved him.”
She was struggling to blink back huge, unshed tears. "I'm very sad, Mummy."
I thought my heart might stop. I had to force myself to breathe and keep my face as straight as possible. I swallowed down a huge lump in my throat before continuing. “So am I, sweetheart. Come on, let's do this."
We held hands as we walked into the kitchen. Everybody stopped talking, as though somebody had pressed the mute button. Then, one by one, they began chatting again.
A steady stream of friends and neighbours stepped forward to pay their respects. Jonathan had been well known and well liked.
I glanced out of the window at the funeral cars and my breath caught in my throat. Frank had chosen the coffin, and it was beautiful, pale pine with stainless steel fittings.
He’d also chosen a simple arrangement of spring flowers for the top. Mainly daffodils, and the sight of them brought back memories of my mother’s funeral. I thought it ironic that I was burying my husband almost twenty years to the day after my mum was buried. Life could be so cruel.
We’d asked for donations to be made to Ronald McDonald House instead of hundreds of flowers.
I had a pet hate about flowers.
I loved them in their natural environment, but I hated seeing mountains of rotting flowers after funerals. They always set my mind racing, imagining what else was rotting.
I hated receiving flowers in everyday life, hated arranging vases and having to remember to change the water. Not to mention the cloying, sickly stench as they decomposed into slimy stems in the vase. I’d much prefer a box of chocolates to say thank you or sorry.
However, I’d left the final decision to Frank. Today was not all about me; he'd lost his only son. I searched the sea of tea-swilling bodies and spotted him standing next to the dining table, looking out of place.
I caught his eye and nodded at the door. He was beside me a few moments later, and I left the house on his arm. Emily held my other hand with Steph close behind. The four of us got into the only funeral car. Everyone else would follow in their own vehicles.
As we set off, Emily asked what the box in the other car was for. It hadn’t occurred to me she wouldn’t know, but why would she? She’d never had anything to do with death in her short life.
My eyes darted to Stephanie and Frank, who looked as horrified as I felt.
“Remember what we were talking about the other day? About what happens when a person dies?”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “Yes. They go up to heaven.”
I nodded. “Yes, that’s right. But not every part of them goes to heaven, just their spirit.”
“What’s the spirit?”
Her little screwed up face tore at my heart as she clearly tried her best to understand what I meant.
“The spirit is what everybody has inside their body, and when a person dies, it’s because their body is broken or old. Which is why their spirit leaves the body and goes to heaven.”
Emily didn’t say anything, her gaze fixed on the car in front.
