The Trouble With Dying Read online

“Hey, Tess,” I say, über-casual, “how about you go ask the nurses for a pen and paper, in case we need to write anything down.”

  Then, with my daughter briefly absent, I give myself permission to feel.

  Just this once I’m going to give in and feel what I’ve been trying not to feel ever since my ex-lover stepped into my room.

  Decision made, I’m suddenly shy. Which is absurd since he can’t even see me. I swallow my nerves and stand in front of Nate, as close as I can get without merging into him.

  Just as I look up at his face he opens his eyes. He’s not looking at me but he doesn’t need to. I’m drinking him in, every muscle, every groove, every last gorgeous detail. My pulse races, my breath quickens, and somehow the very fact that we’re not touching hones and heightens my desire.

  I reach a hand up to his cheek and imagine the roughness against my palm. He lets his eyes close again, and I close mine with him, clinging to the intimacy of our connection. He draws a ragged breath and even that is enough to send shockwaves of heat through me. I’m so hot for him I’m a god-damn health and safety hazard.

  I run my thumb over the fullness of his lower lip. He bites down on a groan, and it’s bittersweet knowledge that Nate is affected by me as much as I’m affected by him.

  Erotic thoughts storm my mind. Nate, hot and hard and heavy beneath me, naked and desperate . . . my tongue sliding over his skin . . . teeth nipping, hips grinding . . .

  I don’t realise I’ve switched from imagining to doing until he groans. I look down and see my hips are grinding against—well, actually, through—his. I’ve partially merged with his body. And he feels it.

  Every nerve is on high alert, sensitised to the point where pleasure tips into pain. I forget to breathe. I don’t know whether to stop and back off, or keep going and incinerate us both.

  He swears under his breath. “You always got under my skin, but this is ridiculous.”

  Gran chuckles. “You have roughly ten seconds until your daughter gets back.”

  My cheeks flame. Crap. Tess is almost here.

  Double crap. Gran is here.

  I do not want Gran invading my thoughts about, or special moments with, this man.

  It’s private. Personal. And, today, R-rated.

  I’m mortified.

  She looks off to the left, a smile playing around her lips. “I won’t tell a soul.”

  I glare at Gran then carefully back out of Nate’s body. The exit is almost as erotic as the entry.

  “He’s rather delectable, isn’t he?” she stage-whispers, just as Tess returns.

  Tess waves at Gran and me. “Hi.”

  “Hi,” we all chorus.

  “Sorry,” says Gran, “I have to go.”

  And she’s gone, before I can even ask why.

  Nate clears his throat, walks over to the bed and busies himself with rearranging cards.

  “What’s delecta—”

  “Never mind,” I interrupt. “Tess, darling, can you tell Nate you’re going to talk for me, please? We’ve got work to do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Tess takes in my words, ready to relay them to Nate.

  “. . . ask the neighbours,” she tells him. “Someone must have seen what . . .”

  I stop listening as something in my peripheral vision catches my attention. I glance to my right and do a double-take.

  There’s a stranger in the corner. I frown. How long has he been sitting there? Who is he? And why is he here if he’s not introducing himself?

  “Did I say that right, Mummy?” asks Tess.

  “Mmm?”

  Everything about him is dark. His suit is dark, his shoes are dark, his eyebrows are dark, his hair is dark . . . and who wears a gangster hat (dark, of course) shadowing their face like that in a hospital? He gives me the creeps.

  I look at Nate. Does he know this guy? Does he even see him?

  Apparently not. With his back to the window, Nate is scanning the room with a laser-sharp gaze, clearly looking for me—but not paying the slightest attention to Creepy Guy.

  I sneak another glance at the corner. Creepy Guy watches me, his face impassive.

  Was he sitting there the whole time Nate and I were . . . ?

  Eeuww. I shudder. That’s even creepier.

  Nate’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Pix, are you sure this particular person we’re seeking proof on—” he glances at Tess, keeps his words vague “—is preparing, er, further action?”

  Oblivious to the subtext, Tess waits for my answer.

  “Yes,” I say, distracted.

  “Yes,” repeats Tess, following my gaze. Her whole body stills.

  She stares at Creepy Guy and her expression blends from surprise into bewilderment and then fear. She shoots me a look verging on terror then makes a beeline for Nate.

  Conclusion: Creepy Guy must be otherworldly.

  “You okay, Squirt?” asks Nate.

  Tess nods, then bites her lip and draws breath to speak. At that moment Gran materialises, uptight and annoyed and very, very grim.

  “Tess.” Gran’s tone holds a warning. “We’re all safe. Don’t worry.”

  Tess visibly relaxes. I don’t. What the hell is Creepy Guy doing here?

  Hell? My brain connects the dots and my stomach plummets. Oh God. Please don’t let him be from Hell.

  I shoot Gran a bug-eyed look. She shakes her head at me: no. Then she smiles and winks, mimes deep breathing, and smiles at me again. Calm down. Okay. I nod.

  “The answer’s no, Pix,” says Nate. “I won’t do it.”

  “No?” I stare at him, horrified. What does he mean, no? If he refuses to be my eyes, refuses to help me find evidence incriminating Geoff, he’s basically signing my death warrant.

  “This is important. Tell him, Tess!”

  She frowns. “Stop shouting, Mummy.” Then, to Nate, “She’s real mad at you.”

  Nate’s lips twitch. “She is, is she?”

  His gaze roams the room. “Well, she’s going to have to get over herself and stop being such a control freak.”

  I so want to punch him.

  “Tess,” I grind out, “tell Uncle Nate he’d better do this for me or—”

  “You’d better do this for her,” parrots Tess.

  “—Or I’ll haunt him forever.”

  “Or she’ll haunt you forever.”

  For some reason Nate finds this particularly amusing. “She will, will she?”

  Tess nods, her eyes full-moon-round.

  He looks away, his expression suddenly serious.

  “You’ve been doing that for years,” he murmurs. “Why stop now?”

  “What do you mean?” asks Tess.

  Nate turns back to her with a smile. “Never mind. Tell your mum her idea is a great one, but my idea’s better.”

  “Mum, Uncle Nate says—”

  “I heard.”

  Men. I glare at him. Of course his idea’s better. This is the world according to Nate Sutherland. Sadly, I’m in no position to argue.

  I fold my arms defensively across my chest. “What’s his great idea, then? It had better be good.”

  Tess climbs into Uncle Nate’s lap. “Mummy’s using her grumpy voice. You’re in trouble.”

  He grins. “Oh dear.”

  He’s a bastard, but he looks the happiest I’ve seen him and when he’s happy the whole room feels happy. I like that.

  Tess returns his grin. “She says, what’s your idea?”

  “It’s simple.” He speaks to the room. “I’m not going to door-knock all the neighbours. You say that’s the best way, but Pix, it’ll take forever, and there aren’t many who would’ve been able to see from their homes. So. I’ll go stand on your balcony with some binoculars and choose the people I door-knock.”

  He looks so smug I’m determined to find a flaw in his plan. “Tess, can you say this: what about the person . . . who was just passing by . . . and saw something?”

  “And what if there was
n’t anyone passing by?” he counters. “Or what if the person passing by wasn’t a neighbour? Or what if they were driving by and saw something? They might live in a whole different city.”

  He’s right, of course.

  “I would hope they might have gone to the police,” I say through stiff lips.

  “Anyway,” he adds, drowning my words, “odds-on they’ll have gone to the police already if they saw the accident.”

  What is it about this man that makes me want to argue with him—even when he’s just agreed with me? I bite my tongue.

  “No,” he says, with a decisive thump of hand on knee, “we’re looking for someone who glanced out their window and saw something that meant nothing to them but will mean plenty to us.”

  “Fine,” I mutter. “Whatever. Do it your way. Like I have any choice,” I add, feeling like a rebellious teen.

  “Mummy says okay,” Tess tells Nate.

  Which is a very diplomatic translation, coming from one so young.

  I see a slight movement in my peripheral vision and cast a nervous glance at Creepy Guy. It’s easy to forget he’s there. Why is he there?

  He stares at me.

  Gran moves across my vision.

  “He’s here because of me, not you,” she says. “Ignore him.”

  Easier said than done. About as easy as ignoring a tiger prowling through a shopping mall.

  “Pffft.” She flaps a hand. “You’re doing well. Carry on. I’ll keep him occupied.”

  A wink, a bracing breath, and she’s gone. A moment later he is, too.

  I could spend hours worrying about who he is and what he wants, but hours are a rare commodity for me these days and I can’t afford to waste them.

  I give myself a mental shake and turn back to Tess. “Darling, could you ask Nate to check the back entrance and stairwell for me?”

  She repeats my request.

  He looks amused but exasperated. “Pixie. This stuff is my bread and butter. Here’s an idea: you quit telling me how to investigate and I won’t tell you how to be a ghost.”

  He winks at Tess, then tickles her. As she ducks away from him, shrieking and giggling, he pauses briefly to look my way. And even though I know he has no idea where in the room I am, I swear he’s looking straight into my eyes, seeing straight through to my soul as he says, “I’m here now, Pix, and I’m on your team. We’ll fix this.”

  # # #

  Mum is back and, with Geoff and Cynthia also visiting, Nate has taken the opportunity to leave. He hasn’t said as much, but I expect he’s gone to take another look at my apartment then carry out his grand target-the-neighbours plan. I don’t really care what he does as long as it works.

  Tess is playing happily on the floor next to the bed. On the other side of the room Geoff and Cynthia stand, bodies close, talking in murmurs; a tight unit.

  How could they?

  Bitterness bubbles in my belly. So much for the sanctity of the family unit. My family is being ripped apart in front of my comatose body and Tess, poor girl, is going to be the fallout.

  I move closer and listen in on Geoff and Cynthia’s conversation.

  “Don’t worry,” purrs Cynthia. “Everything will work out just fine.”

  “I hope so.” Geoff looks across the room to Tess. “She’s a great kid.”

  “She is. And I adore her. We get along famously.”

  My gut tightens. There’s a bad taste in my mouth. I’m not proud of it, but I can’t stand the thought of Cynthia getting along famously with my daughter.

  I try to damp down my emotional reaction—I need to stay calm for Faith-in-the-bed—but it’s hard. All week I’ve been trying to find a way to love Geoff, or at least tolerate him, so our family unit will be preserved when I wake. And all this time he wants me gone. Dead. Replaced.

  I turn away, seething. Happy families with Geoff? I’d rather not wake.

  Warning beeps cut through my thoughts.

  My pulse lurches. Faith-in-the-bed. No. I didn’t mean that. I’m desperate to wake, for my daughter’s sake if nobody else’s.

  I close my eyes, slow my breathing and empty my mind. The beeping silences, and when I open my eyes Cynthia is giving Geoff a reassuring smile.

  His phone rings. He answers it and Cynthia wanders over to Tess.

  Is it just me, or is she accentuating the sway of her hips?

  Geoff licks his lips.

  Not just me, then. I look away, feeling strangely hollow.

  “Hey, darling,” says Cynthia. “What are you doing?”

  She smooths Tess’s hair back from her face and my jaw tightens. I have a sudden urge to slap her. How’s that for best friends?

  “I’m playing families,” says Tess, holding out a paper cut-out. “See? This is me, and that one’s Mummy.”

  She places the Tess figurine beside ‘Mummy’.

  “The other one—” she points to another cut-out several feet away “—is Daddy. He’s at work.”

  Cynthia nods and points to a fourth paper doll. “What about this one?”

  “That’s Nan-Nan.”

  “Hmm. But Nan-Nan’s in Heaven.” She cocks her head to one side. “Maybe it should be me instead.”

  Tess bites her lip. Her quandary is clear: loyalty or good manners?

  “No,” she finally decides. “I can’t not have Nan-Nan. Nan-Nan’s my friend.”

  Cynthia pouts. “That’s a shame. I thought we were friends.”

  Tess ducks Cynthia’s gaze and focuses on her dolls.

  That’s when Geoff pockets his phone and approaches Cynthia from behind, hooking a casual arm around her waist.

  My heart lurches into my throat. Now that I’ve noticed it once, I’m seeing it all the time. Little, telltale signs that Geoff and Cynthia are more than friends.

  “My two favourite girls,” says Geoff.

  Tess looks up at her father. “What about Mummy? She’s a girl too.”

  There’s an awkward silence. Tess flies her Nan-Nan doll through the air. Geoff’s arm drops from Cynthia. Cynthia shoots him a doe-eyed look.

  Geoff clears his throat. “Ah, yes. That makes three favourite girls, doesn’t it? You’re all my favourites.”

  “That’s in one of my little-girl books,” says Tess, sitting Nan-Nan next to the Mummy doll.

  “Is it?” Geoff clearly isn’t familiar with the story.

  But I am.

  The well-thumbed book sits open in my hands. Tess huddles under the covers, freshly bathed, sucking her wee thumb, listening with rapt attention to the story.

  I look down at her with a full heart. Geoff is working late again, but I don’t care. I’m past caring. But these special Tess-and-Mummy times? These are what it’s all about.

  Tess can’t read yet, but she knows every line, every phrase, every well-placed word, and she’s impatient for us to reach her favourite bit.

  I turn the page. Her eyes glow. I wink at her and together we say the line.

  “You’re all my favourites.”

  And we share a smile because we both know what I’m about to whisper.

  I lean close, and her apple-shampooed hair is the fresh fragrance of innocence.

  “And you’re my favourite, darling. Forever and ever, Amen.”

  Geoff heads for the door, apparently keen to stifle any discussion of ‘favourites’.

  “Coffee, Cynth?” he asks.

  Cynthia nods, sinking into the chair. As Geoff leaves she opens her retro must’ve-cost-a-bomb handbag.

  “I’m sure Mummy will wake up soon,” she says, with a bright smile for Tess, “but in the meantime, here’s a little something I’ve chosen for you. I know you’re getting to be a big girl, so I thought you should have a big-girl gift.”

  Which smacks of trying to score brownie points with either Tess or Geoff. But maybe I’m doing Cynthia a disservice.

  And maybe I’m not.

  She offers Tess a blue satin pouch, beautifully embroidered with hearts and stars.

&nb
sp; Tess accepts her gift with something approaching reverence, even setting aside her Nan-Nan doll to loosen the drawstring.

  She upends the pouch and releases its contents on the floor. Her eyes widen. With great care she picks up the delicate silver necklace and stares at it, mesmerised.

  Cynthia crosses her legs and relaxes back in her chair. “Do you like it?”

  Tess nods, seemingly lost for words.

  “Here, I’ll put it on for you.” Cynthia leans forward and gently turns Tess around so she can fasten the necklace around her neck. “Beautiful.”

  She takes a hand mirror from her handbag and holds it up for Tess.

  Tess’s shining eyes say it all. She looks at Cynthia in the mirror, giving her a smile that’s unexpectedly shy. “Thank you.”

  Eyes still fixed on her reflection, she tentatively touches the necklace. Then she turns and flings her arms around Cynthia’s neck.

  “You’re the best,” says Tess, and a bolt of jealousy spears through me.

  It’s crazy, but Cynthia makes me feel redundant; surplus to requirements. It’s as if she’s stealing my family away from me even as I watch. First Geoff, now Tess.

  No. I’m right: that is crazy. Shame swamps me. I should be pleased Cynthia’s thinking of her. That necklace is a small gesture that will bring Tess joy, and heaven knows she could do with a bit of joy in her life right now. Her world has been turned upside down.

  My heart aches. I wish I could be the one to shower Tess with gifts. I wish I could kiss her and hug her and wipe away her tears. I wish I—

  But there’s no point wishing. I can’t at the moment and that’s all there is to it. So maybe I should be a bit more appreciative of Cynthia’s loyalty to my husband and daughter through such a difficult time.

  I try the feeling out, but it doesn’t sit well with me. Bottom line: I don’t appreciate Cynthia’s involvement with my family. For which I will probably go straight to Hell.

  Cynthia returns Tess’s hug, then carefully disentangles herself.

  “You’re a sweetie,” she says, gently smoothing one of Tess’s bouncy curls. “I know I’m not your mum, but I’m happy to fill in if you feel like you need a substitute mum.”

  My heart stutters.

  I try to say, “No! I’m still here!” But nothing emerges. My throat is too clogged with fears I’ve barely begun to face.