Please Release Me (22 page)

There was no answer.

‘I’m going, Dad. I just wanted to say – I think I understand what you did. You thought we would be better off without you. I get that. But you were wrong. We weren’t. Things got worse. Just so that you know. It didn’t help. It just made everything worse.’

She paused, listening for an answer. When there was no response, she turned to leave. As she stepped back out into the overcast afternoon, she realised that, for the first time in a long time, she felt okay. No anger burning, no tears being throttled. She smiled to herself and as she swept down the path and through the gate, not bothering to make contact with the ground. There was a park she wanted to go to, just around the corner, where the forget-me-nots grew.

She didn’t look back at the house. There was nothing left there for her to see.

Peter ran out of the office. Something in Grace’s voice disturbed him. It was ridiculous that Sally was planning on committing suicide. For a start, she was a ghost already and her body was in a coma. For seconds, she was so into her drama. There was no way she’d make a quiet exit like that. Even a huge car crash on her wedding day wasn’t enough for her. There was no way she’d go out without a bang.

As he got into the car, he realised that there would be drama. Sally had him and Grace rushing over to the hospital for no apparent reason already. What did she have planned?

As he drove up to a traffic light, he wondered how he would feel if Sally really were to die. He had been grieving her loss for so long that it had sunk into his very bones. He had loved her, lost her, loved her more, then realised that the woman he’d loved had been a fabrication. He no longer knew what was truth and what was mirage. If she died now, would he really be losing anything that he hadn’t already lost over the past year?

Sally waited. Grace would come. She knew she would. She wasn’t sure if Peter would though, which was telling in itself. A few weeks ago there was no doubt that he would drop everything and rush over at the slightest twitch from her. But now, she wasn’t sure.

She looked over at the pale creature in the bed, with her crappy hair that was mostly brown now and sallow skin. It wasn’t a bad body. It had been in much better condition while she was looking after it. She stretched her arms out in front of her and admired the sleek tan and perfect manicure. The photo at the side of her bed was testimony to what a beautiful bride she had been. On that day she had been at the peak of life, with a fabulous future ahead of her. She had such promise. Not like the poor cow in the bed.

The creature in the bed had no future. If she ever woke up, she would be a broken thing – weak from being in bed for over a year, maybe damaged in other ways. She would have to suffer the embarrassment of having to wee into a tube and being rolled around by nurses. She would have to go to a home that was too smart for her to look after and to live with a husband who didn’t love her any more. No, that wasn’t a life. That was a life sentence.

‘I’m not going to let you win,’ Sally said. She pointed to the silent body. ‘You are going to die.’ She pointed to herself. ‘I am going to be the one they remember. Me. The beautiful bride who was so tragically whisked away on the happiest day of her life.’

Outside, the sun came out from behind a cloud and pale light flooded the room. Sally moved, shadowless, to the window and checked out the sky. There was a patch of blue. She hoped that lasted until she died. In a few more minutes, the sun would start to set and the room would be flooded in gold. It would look stunning.

‘A perfect send off,’ she whispered to herself. That made her think of a good last sentence. She would turn her head, if she could manage it, and whisper ‘It’s a beautiful day to die.’ She repeated it to herself and savoured the pathos of it. Yes. Those would be fitting last words.

When Peter got to the hospice, Grace was already there, waiting at the door, fidgeting. Seeing her immediately made him feel guilty. Was every visit to this place destined to be linked with guilt and pain?

‘I thought I’d wait five minutes to see if you turned up.’ She turned and walked with him into the entrance.

‘What’s going on Grace?’

She explained as they strode up to the lift. Peter had to admit it all sounded rather odd, but very Sally. ‘She wants to die while she’s still the tragic heroine, rather than as a dried out invalid? That makes sense in a weird way.’

‘Won’t you miss her?’ Grace demanded. As the doors to the lift slid shut, she jabbed floor three.

‘I would,’ said Peter. ‘But I’m not convinced this isn’t a ploy to get us to her room so that she can have another pop at you. Or me.’

Grace looked down. ‘The thought occurred to me too. But there was something about the way she was …’

‘Well, I guess we’ll see in a minute.’

Silence followed and they avoided eye contact. Grace looked drawn and worried. The skin under her eyes was bluish and there were creases as though she hadn’t slept. Her ultra short hair was sticking out messily, as though she’d run her fingers through it too quickly. He remembered the expression on her face when she’d backed away from him. He’d done this to her.

‘Grace—’

‘Don’t.’ She moved away from him, squashing up hard against the wall of the lift. ‘Just … don’t. Okay.’

What could he say? The knowledge that he didn’t love Sally any more didn’t change anything. He was still married to Sally and she needed him. He stepped back, so that there was a good distance between him and Grace. Would he miss Sally if she went? He had been saying goodbye to her for over a year now, would her death really make a difference, apart from making life less stressful?

When the doors opened, Grace was out first. Peter followed her as she dashed along the corridor. A nurse came out of Sally’s room.

‘Hello Peter. Grace.’ She nodded to them both. No one seemed to question that Grace was coming to visit Sally anymore. ‘I’ve just done her obs. She’s stable. Although, there was some activity early this morning. Would you like to see the charts, Peter?’

Peter followed the nurse back into the room to look at the charts. Grace stood by the bed, her head to one side. He was acutely aware of her, shifting her weight impatiently as she waited until it was safe to speak to Sally without the nurse hearing.

The nurse explained that Sally’s heart rate had gone up, then down, then stabilised. ‘When the team came in, she had her hand raised. There was still no sign of recognition or response from her, but she put the hand back down by herself.’ She ran though what the doctors had said, but Peter wasn’t really focusing. A few months ago, something like this would have left him clinging on to every word, searching for a glimmer of hope that Sally was coming back. But now, the chill in the room was enough to tell him that Sally was nearby. He looked at the woman lying on the bed and wondered what Grace saw there.

Sally sat on the bed, careful not to line herself up completely with her body. Peter was trying to look interested as the nurse ran through obs charts. Grace was staring at Sally, as though trying to read her mind. It was kind of funny.

With the filter of anger removed, Sally could see how Peter and Grace would be perfect for each other. They were both organised and boring. Grace would probably be genuinely interested in Peter’s charts and arrows and things. Peter would love the sciencey whatever it was that Grace did. She hoped they didn’t move into her house though. She had lovingly decorated that house to be the perfect place. She’d known what was going where before she’d even met Peter. Grace could have Peter and the money and the lifestyle, but not the house.

The nurse left, assuring Peter that they’d keep him up to date if anything else happened. Grace moved to the foot of the bed. ‘Sally, what are you doing?’ she said softly.

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ said Sally.

‘Sounds to me like you’re getting better.’ said Grace. ‘Is that what you were trying to tell me before?’

‘Nope,’ said Sally. ‘This little carcass is useless.’ She patted the silent, breathing body next to her on the bed. ‘Her legs don’t work. In fact, nothing works from …’ she hovered her finger over her body and jabbed it in, somewhere just below the diaphragm. ‘… there downwards. Even the arms are a bit of an effort to be honest.’

Grace’s mouth made an ‘o’ as she took in the information. She looked over her shoulder at Peter.

‘What? What did she say?’ Peter came to stand next to her. Sally was pleased to see that he left a decent space between them, as though he were afraid of touching her. If Grace wanted Peter now, she’d have to work for it. Too bloody right. No one should get a man that easily. If she, Sally, had to put so much work into grabbing Peter, it was only fair that plain, gangly Grace should have to work a little harder.

‘Sally, what are you up to?’ said Grace.

‘Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to die.’

‘She says she’s … dying.’ Grace half turned her head so that she could speak to Peter, but her eyes remained on Sally. ‘But Sally, why? Why now?’

Sally carefully sat down and stretched her legs so that they aligned perfectly with her body’s legs. She couldn’t feel anything in them, but somehow, as soon as the two bodies linked, she felt a sense of rightness. She leaned forward, so that her chest remained free from her body. ‘I’m tired,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to stay and live in limbo. I’ve had enough. I’m getting out.’

Grace looked at a loss for what to say. Her lips moved and she shook her head slowly. Much to Sally’s amazement, there were tears gathering in her eyes.

‘Don’t.’ Grace’s voice wavered.

Why was Grace getting upset? She could get her mitts on Peter once the funeral was over.

‘Grace?’ Peter, poor darling had no idea what was going on.

‘Tell him,’ said Sally. ‘Tell him to remember me as I was, not how I am now. Tell him I loved him. I still … love him. I know I’m not the easiest person to love back, but I hope that, at some level he loves me too.’

Grace repeated it in a broken whisper.

Peter looked at the bed, his face impassive. He didn’t believe her. ‘What is she doing?’

‘I think she’s found a way to die,’ said Grace.

Peter edged a little closer to the bed. His eyes darted to the wall. Sally realised he was getting within arm’s reach of the emergency call button. If she needed any more conformation that Peter no longer loved or trusted her, this was it. He thought she was going to cause more trouble.

The cheer she’d felt vanished. This was how it ended. With her husband eyeing her with suspicion. Suddenly, she wanted to cry. She turned back to Grace and saw that she was gripping the metal end of the bed so hard that the sinews on her hands were pushing out under her skin. With sudden clarity, Sally realised that the person who would miss her the most was Grace. Grace whom she’d tricked, used and ultimately tried to hurt. Grace whom she’s spent the evenings chatting with. Grace, who genuinely cared. And she’d taken that as a weakness to be exploited.

‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted out. ‘You’ve been a good friend to me, Grace and I’ve been horrible towards you’

Grace shook her head and blinked back tears. ‘I’ll miss you,’ she said.

The need to cry got worse. It built up behind her ductless eyes. When she could feel again, it would probably hurt. Well, there was no point hanging around, she told herself. She had to get on with it or she’d miss the light. She reminded herself of the last words she’d planned.

‘Well, bye then,’ she said. She lowered herself down, her arms first, then her torso. Partway down she paused. ‘You don’t get to have my house,’ she said to Grace.

Grace gave a half sob, half laugh. ‘No.’

‘Look after him.’ Sally nodded towards Peter, whose gaze was flitting between Grace and the woman on the bed.

‘I will.’

Peter said something, but Sally didn’t make out what it was. She reconnected with her body and the rush of signals overwhelmed her. Her world exploded with sensation and taste and sound and pain. When at last it bubbled down to a manageable level, she realised the alarm was going off and there were more people in the room. Peter must have pushed the button. She found her heart and concentrated, trying to slow it down, but it galloped away as her body’s automatic systems spurred it on. She tried to force it faster instead. Suddenly, there was pain, rising fast. Sally desperately located her lips and vocal chords. Time for the last words.

As pain and ice rolled up on her, her mouth opened for her last words to the world. ‘Ohhh Fuuuuuuuck!’

And then it was over. There was tranquillity.

Peter stared at Sally, lying on the bed. Her scream drowned out the noise of the heart monitor and the alarm. Her body seemed to convulse once, twice, and then lay still. The heart monitor subsided to a long flat note. Nurses shouted to each other. Someone turned up with a defibrillator and shouted ‘clear’. Sally’s body jerked up in the air as they tried to resuscitate her. He could no longer see her; the medical people were in the way.

Someone touched his arm. He turned to see Grace, tears running down her face. Without thinking, he took her hand. They stood together backed against the wall as people tried to bring Sally back. In the end, they gave up.

‘She’s gone,’ said the doctor, quietly. ‘Time of death. 3.54.’ She turned and faced Peter. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Peter nodded, suddenly numb.

‘Would you … like a few minutes?’

He nodded again. He felt Grace’s hand leave his. He didn’t stop her. There was a general shuffling and the room emptied, leaving him with the body of his wife. He stepped towards the bed and looked at her. Her oxygen mask had been removed and someone had put her arms on her middle so that she looked like she was in repose. There were faint blue marks on her face from where the mask had rested and thin veins showed on her pale cheeks. He touched her face and found that it was still warm. She could almost be asleep.

‘Sally,’ he said. He wasn’t sure which one he should grieve for. The woman he remembered from what seemed like years ago, or the one he’d glimpsed of late. Either way, someone had died. Someone he had loved. Once.

‘Goodbye, Sally.’ He leaned forward to kiss her. He was surprised to find that her cheek was salty with tears.