The Trouble With Dying Read online

  “Just tell her about your day,” says Mum. “Anything at all. It doesn’t matter. Human contact is what she needs. Reminders of her life, her friends, the people she loves and who love her back.” She gives Cynthia a blinding smile. “Faith is very fortunate to have friends like you. People she can always rely on to be there for her.”

  Now I know Mum is baiting her. And Cynthia knows too; she’s looking like she just chewed on a lemon.

  “Absolutely.” Geoff replaces the medical chart. “I can’t tell you how grateful we are, Cynth. You’ve been a huge help.”

  Mum’s expression remains pleasant, but I detect a chill in her eyes. “Tell me, Cynthia. When Faith confided to you that she felt suicidal, what did you do?”

  My eyes widen to match my mouth. Note to self: don’t mess with Mum. Not that I should be surprised. It’s those Osbourne genes.

  Cynthia blinks. “What did I do? I . . . well, I talked to her, obviously. And, ah . . .”

  She runs out of words. Looks down at her hands. Sniffles.

  Mum waits.

  In a small voice Cynthia says, “Miss Osbourne—Kathy—this isn’t easy for me. Faith and I are such close friends and—” her tears begin to fall “—sorry, I . . .”

  “Did you warn Geoff?” asks Mum, unmoved by Cynthia’s tears. “Or surely, at the very least, you must have ensured she got professional help?”

  “Well, I . . . obviously I tried, but—”

  “But? But? My daughter’s life was at stake and there was a ‘but’?”

  Mum turns her back on Cynthia. Pulls on her coat, collects Tess’s toys, picks up her handbag. Cynthia’s gaze locks with Geoff’s.

  “It’s been lovely seeing you both,” says Mum, in what has to be the Lie of The Year, “but Tess and I are going for lunch now. It’s been a long morning, and we both need sustenance. Especially Tess.” She looks pointedly at Geoff.

  Her words hang in the air.

  Geoff clears his throat. “Ah, yes. She’s a growing kid. Always hungry. You’re fantastic, Kathy. Thanks for all your help.”

  Which makes my hand tingle with the after-sting of the slap I’d love to give him. No excuse is good enough; he should be hunkering down with his daughter, putting family first instead of that stupid business of his and whatever else he’s choosing to do with his time.

  Mum gives Geoff a tight-lipped smile. “She needs all the love she can get right now.”

  Exactly.

  “That’s why I’m so glad you’re here,” he says. “Tess is very attached to you, Kathy. I’ve noticed that. Cynth, you were saying the same thing, weren’t you?”

  Cynthia nods on cue. I want to give her Barbie-doll face a good slap, too.

  “If work wasn’t taking up so much of my time . . .”

  Mum speaks into the silence. “Do you think you’ll manage to make time for Tess’s birthday?”

  “Of course.” His expression turns sheepish. “Er . . . when are we having the party, again?”

  “For goodness’ sake, Geoff. You were the one who suggested we have a family celebration on her birthday.”

  He rubs the back of his neck, grimaces. “Right. Twentieth of March, then.”

  “Don’t worry,” says Cynthia, all geniality. “I’ll remind him.”

  Mum pauses slightly too long before offering a frosty ‘thank you’. A few more artificial pleasantries and she’s gone, taking Tess to lunch. Then Gran disappears to some Death Council check-in or other, leaving me with Geoff and Cynthia and the uneasy knowledge that, in all this, my husband doesn’t appear to have taken time to think about his only child’s upcoming birthday.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tess offloads a handful of leaves onto the foot of the bed. A few scatter to the floor and I grit my teeth, trying not to feel annoyed and failing. I know she’s just playing—so why do I suddenly feel the need to clean up after her?

  “Here you go, Mummy,” she says. “We had a picnic lunch, and I know you like autumn so I brought some leaves back for you.”

  Bless her. See? That mess is her gift to me. How can I want it gone? I force myself to smile. “They’re gorgeous.”

  As is she. My smile becomes genuine. Her eyes are sparkling, her cheeks are rosy, and there’s a renewed sense of energy to her that is one hundred percent pure, life-loving kid.

  “Excuse me.” Nurse Bridget ducks past Mum and hurries in. “Sorry, we can’t have those in here.”

  She scoops up the leaves quick-smart and whisks them away.

  Tess’s face falls.

  “Oops.” Mum looks shamefaced.

  Nurse Bridget reappears and Mum hastily says, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.”

  “That’s okay,” Bridget reassures her. “It can be hard getting used to all these rules.”

  Has she noticed the leafy remains on the blanket?

  Oh, stop it, Faith. I turn my annoyance on myself. Why would I suddenly care about a random leaf or two?

  Nurse Bridget crouches down in front of Tess. “I’m sorry, love, but we can’t have anything like flowers or leaves or plants brought in to Mummy’s room. They’re not allowed. They might stop Mummy from getting better.”

  “But—”

  “What are you up to this time, Squirt?” Nate grins at her from the doorway.

  Bridget glances his way, blushes, and stands. “We were just talking about how much Mummy likes autumn.” She smiles down at Tess. “Hey, I’ve got a great idea. Why don’t you make a whole bunch of leaves out of paper and colour them in for Mummy? Paper leaves are just fine in here. Would you like to make some?”

  Tess nods, her eyes lighting up.

  “Come with me, then. I’m sure I can find you some paper.”

  Bridget holds out her hand to Tess and they head off down to the nurses’ station.

  I eye up the specks of dirt on the blanket, then give myself a shake. Forget it. I’ve got bigger issues to worry about.

  Nate hands Mum the key she lent him.

  “Thanks.” She stashes it in her handbag. “Anything useful?”

  “Enough.”

  But they don’t get to discuss it any further because Tess races back in, paper in hand, clearly on a mission. She spreads herself out on the floor and sketches a leaf. Starts cutting.

  “Nan, can I make a forest?”

  Mum blinks. “I . . .”

  “Pleeeeeeze?”

  “I guess so. How are you going to do that?”

  “Like this,” says Tess and tosses a couple of freshly-cut leaves in the air, letting them rain down any old how.

  “Want a hand?” asks Nate.

  Tess nods eagerly, so he sits down on the floor with her and, pulling out a Swiss Army knife, opens a tiny pair of scissors.

  Tess stares at them. “Cool,” she says.

  He shows her all the hidden tools.

  “Way cool,” she decides. “I wish I had one.”

  He winks at her. “Isn’t it your birthday soon?”

  She nods enthusiastically.

  Mum cautions them both with a sensible, “I think seven might be a bit young for a Swiss Army knife.”

  Tess and Nate pout at each other. Then Nate tosses a bunch of leaves in the air, and Tess follows suit, laughing.

  Mum groans at the growing mess.

  “Your mother would have a fit if she saw you doing this,” she says, but Tess is oblivious. She’s trying to outdo Nate on the messy leaves front.

  I force myself to breathe deep and relax. This is clean mess. It’s good mess.

  Such joie de vivre. I watch Tess’s antics and can’t help but smile. She’s such a free spirit. I can imagine her dancing around toadstools in the moonlight.

  “But Nan . . .” Tess pauses her leaf-tossing to give Mum her most beseeching gaze. “Pleeeeeeze can I have a Swiss Army knife? I’ll be careful, I promise. And it’ll be great if we go camping. It’s even got a toothpick,” she adds, her eyes full of wonder. “Hey! Can I have a forest party for my birthday?”

/>   I feel tired just listening to it. Kids are so constant. Maybe it did get me down. Maybe I did need a break.

  Sure. But no way would I have taken a finish-my-life break. I just wouldn’t.

  Mum and Tess start talking about her birthday party. It must be soon, by the sounds of it. Nate listens, a smile playing on his lips.

  “Are you hearing this, Faith?” he says. “A forest party. Bet you’re glad you don’t have to ice the cake.”

  Birthday details sorted to Tess’s satisfaction, she finds her crayons and starts colouring in leaves.

  Nate stands and stretches. “You carry on, Squirt. I need a break.”

  He wanders over to Mum.

  “Well?” she asks.

  He runs a hand over his face, as if life is wearing him down.

  “No way in hell is this attempted suicide.” His voice is low but intense. “You know what Faith’s like, Kathy. She’d never leave the kitchen untidy.”

  Mum shakes her head. “Not a speck of dust is allowed to settle in her house.”

  “Forget the dust. I’m talking dirty plates, food scraps, a sink full of water, you name it.”

  I shudder. He’s right: that’s not like me. I remember nothing, but my gut tells me I like cleanliness and order.

  “Faith wouldn’t leave the kitchen untidy to pop out for milk, let alone anything more . . .” She glances at Tess. “. . . final.”

  Nate shakes his head in agreement.

  “Nathan, you’ve worked with the police before. Surely there must be someone you can ring? Someone who can help with the investigation?”

  He shrugs. “Probably. But whoever’s running this won’t take kindly to being told what to do. I think we’re better to let things run their course.”

  Mum’s face sets. “It’s not like you to allow such a blatant injustice to go unchecked. Can you really stand by and let Faith’s death be ruled a suicide? I certainly can’t.” She folds her arms to punctuate her stance.

  When Nate doesn’t reply she adds, “Fine. If you won’t use your contacts I’ll go in and make waves myself.”

  Nate regards her warily. Her own gaze glints with grim determination.

  He purses his lips, looks off into the middle distance, then snaps his gaze back to Mum. “Okay. Look, there’s a guy I know down in Central. Detective, well respected, gets results . . . I guess I could call in a favour or two.”

  Mum exhales. A glimmer of a smile appears on her face. “That would be lovely.”

  # # #

  The shadows are lengthening when Nate prepares to leave. He leans over Faith-in-the-bed and for a moment just stares at her, as if he’s willing her eyes to open. Then he brings his lips down on her forehead in such a tender, heartfelt kiss it brings me to the brink of tears.

  He pulls back a few inches and touches a finger to her nose. “’Night, Pix,” he murmurs.

  I want more, but he’s talking to Mum. “What time is Geoff coming for Tess?”

  “I’m not sure. He’ll be battling peak hour traffic, I imagine.”

  “Hmm.” Nate glances at his watch, frowns, returns his gaze to Mum. “You’re looking tired. Want me to wait here with Tess so you can have an early night? It’s no bother.”

  “That’s a lovely offer and I may well take you up on it in a day or two. But I’m fine for now. We’ll get takeaways if we need to, won’t we, Tess?”

  Tess doesn’t reply. She’s too engrossed in a game of fairies to hear.

  Mum’s smile is soft as she regards her granddaughter. The softness is still there as she turns back to Nate. “You’re looking like you need an early night yourself. Go home and sleep, dear. I think you need it.”

  He rubs a weary hand over his eyes. “Yeah. Sleep doesn’t come easy these days.”

  They share a look of understanding.

  “Okay,” he says. “I’ll go. But I’m only a phone call away.”

  Once Nate has gone Mum pulls out a magazine. Every now and then she says something to Faith-in-the-bed. Out in the corridor the clatter of the meal trolley approaches. I don’t suppose it’ll stop here. Tess lies beside a small pile of leaves and walks her fingers this way and that, making little trails and hidey-holes.

  “Do you like my fairy forest, Mummy?” she asks.

  “I do. Where are the fairies?”

  “Here.” She holds up the fingers she’s been walking.

  “Great idea, Tess.”

  I watch her for a moment as she plays. “Darling, I’m going to come back down to my body as soon as I can, okay?”

  “Okay.” She sits up and focuses on me. “Why aren’t you in it? I don’t like it when your body’s all still.” She looks towards Faith-in-the-bed. Her wee lip trembles.

  I do my best to sound confident, in control, because that’s what parents do, right?

  “I don’t like it either, honey. But my body’s been hurt and it needs to get better. At least if I stay up here I can still talk to you.” I force a smile to my lips. “Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

  She hesitates. Her eyes fill. “What if I need a cuddle?”

  “Oh, darling, I can try to give you a cuddle but I don’t think you’ll feel it like a normal cuddle.”

  A solitary tear spills down her cheek. Then another.

  My heart splinters. “Want me to try anyway?”

  She nods.

  “Don’t cry, honey.” I whip down to her side and wrap my arms around her, taking care not to hug through her. “Everything’s going to be all right, I promise.”

  Why did I promise that? Stupid woman. I can’t promise that. I can’t promise anything. I don’t know the first thing about getting back into my body, and I don’t have a clue how to shrug off a coma.

  Tess sniffles.

  “Can you feel me?” I ask.

  She shakes her head and begins to cry in earnest. My throat tightens. I shift my arms, moving closer, desperate to make our hug work.

  Please, God. At least let me give her that.

  “Focus, Faith,” says Gran at my side.

  This time I don’t jump; I must be getting used to her unexpected visits.

  “Faith, you need to really feel the hug. In here.” Gran places a hand over my heart. “Imagine giving the hug with your soul as well as your body.”

  Mum looks over at us. “Are you okay, poppet?” She doesn’t see me or Gran, of course. All she sees is her upset grand-daughter.

  But Tess needs my hug. So I imagine—hard. I imagine my love cocooning her, a warm blanket protecting her from the world. I imagine her resting against me. I imagine stroking her hair and wiping her eyes and kissing her tears away.

  “I love you, Tess,” I murmur.

  Her crying slows to an occasional hiccup-y sob.

  “All right?” I tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Then stop and stare. How did I do that? I moved her hair.

  “You harnessed your emotion,” explains Gran. “You focused.”

  Wow. Clever me. Now, if I can just work out how to do that whenever I feel like it . . .

  Tess wriggles in my arms and stands. “I feel better now.”

  “Great. Did you feel my hug?”

  “Ah-huh.” She’s back in the leaves, playing fairies.

  “Really?” I make do with a grin, but in my head I’m whooping it up big-time. “That’s fantastic!”

  “Hey, Nan-Nan,” says Tess, with a glance Gran’s way, “what should I call my fairies?”

  “Gertrude and Willimena.”

  I stare at Tess, then Gran, then Tess again.

  “Tess,” I venture, “how long have you been able to see Nan-Nan?”

  She looks at me as if I’m the village idiot. “Forever.”

  Which makes sense, since Tess isn’t quite seven and Gran passed away seven years ago.

  “Forever since you were born, you mean?”

  “Forever-forever,” she replies.

  Which means what, precisely? I turn to Gran. “What does she mean?”

&
nbsp; Gran smiles. “That, my darling, is an excellent question.”

  Then, right on cue, she disappears, and I’m left wondering just how long these two have known each other. And how long I’ve known them. And how long anyone knows anyone in this multi-layered world. But most of all, I’m left wondering just how far my daughter’s abilities actually stretch.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Daylight sneaks in through the open weave of the curtains, dragging me back to consciousness and the knowledge that today is, quite possibly, my fourth last day—ever.

  My stomach tightens, squeezes, rolls. This isn’t the way it’s meant to be. I’m young. I have a family, a future; it’s right there, waiting for me.

  My skin prickles, alerting me to . . . what?

  I still, heart thumping, eyes scanning, ears straining. Then I hear his voice and my heart flip-flops. Nate.

  . . . Who is not my husband, so enough of the silly reactions.

  Still, I can’t help poking my head through the wall to catch a glimpse. He’s walking along the corridor, smiling and chatting with the nurses. I frown. Is that come-to-bed smile of his practised or completely natural? Either way, it should be illegal. Even now the nurses are fawning all over him, as if he’s some kind of celebrity.

  I narrow my eyes at the sight. I’m not sure what annoys me more: watching a group of grown women behave like hormonal teens; or knowing I feel the same way when Nate’s around.

  Forget how I might feel, though. I can’t do a thing about it. I’m a wallflower. Unseen, unwanted, missing out on life, watching from the sidelines and wishing it could be me . . .

  I give myself a mental shake. Enough. Positive thoughts only, Faith. I don’t have time for self-defeatist talk. Nate is here—for me. He cares. And as long as he keeps visiting, I still have a chance to make him hear me.

  As for that blonde thing who’s just waved at him—there’s that cursed smile again—good luck to her. He’s a free agent.

  At least, I think he is.

  Okay, I don’t know that. All I know is he used to love me, but something happened. And now I’m married, and he’s Uncle Nate, and—