Simon's Choice (26 page)

If he killed himself (and he noted his dampened emotions seemed unmoved by the idea of leaving the world) would he, too, go to heaven? Would he know Sarah in the afterlife?

That suicide barred one entry to heaven was a common theory, but not necessarily an accurate one. Simon had led a previously good life. He had been kind, generous - unafraid to stand up for those weaker than himself. That he should gain entry to heaven in normal circumstances seemed, to him, reasonably assured.

But if he died at his own hand? He looked at his list and thought of those he would leave behind. He would cause a great deal of pain. His parents, already grieving for their granddaughter – well, it would kill them. And Melissa? Melissa who was about to lose her daughter, her only child, a baby born after years of hope when it seemed conception would not happen.

He looked once again at the collection of photos on the wall of his office. Sarah beamed a gappy-toothed grin down on him – it was a school photo. He remembered that morning. She'd just lost that tooth before school.

Another frame held a wedding picture. The picture was taken inside the reception venue. The original plan had been to take photos outside the church, but that had been abandoned due to horrific weather. Simon smiled, admiring his bride. Melissa had looked wonderful as she had walked down the aisle, yet more wonderful still when she pulled on wellies in the church-porch to walk back to the hired car.

He thought of the Hindu bride he had seen on the steps of the Temple. It seemed impossible to believe that any tragedy could befall them. It had seemed impossible on that rainy day eighteen years ago to believe any misfortune would blight
their
lives. But here they were. Separated, barely talking and with a child who would shortly die.

Beside him, his phone vibrated, dancing across the desk. He picked it up, his voice gruff. “Hello?”

“Dr. Bailey? It’s Fiona at Madron House. You should come now. Sarah’s slipping away.”

Chapter 31

Robert, Melissa’s father, put down the Harry Potter novel he had been reading to his granddaughter. The heavy tome was the final installment of the series and Sarah’s visitors had been taking it in turns to read it to her.

Sarah’s eyes had closed and she was sleeping, one corner of her mouth twitched up into a half smile.

Melissa slept also, her chair pulled up to the bed, her head resting by Sarah’s. She held her little girl’s hand in her own.

Robert closed his eyes. They had come to the end of the book.

* * *

In his office, Simon put down the phone and stared at it for a few seconds. Then he put the lid on his pen and put it back in the pot on his desk. He straightened his papers and locked his prescription pad in the drawer. He stood and drifted towards his coat stand and took his jacket, as he had done so many times before. The vials of insulin in his breast pocket jingled cheerfully against each other.

His mind had gone blank. He felt numb. Weightless. He felt himself smile in the direction of the receptionist, who watched him walk calmly out of the surgery.

It was on a sub-level of consciousness that he started the Jaguar’s engine and headed out of the surgery car park, towards Madron House for the final time. The chirpy women on the radio’s traffic update blended unheeded into the usual cacophony of car journey sounds.

“
Looks like we’ve got a gas leak on High Street guys, which has been shut down for the repairs, so watch out for heavy traffic on all routes out of town.”

But Simon didn’t hear anything at all. As he nosed the car through the traffic towards the hospice, he was hardly aware of the act of driving. In his mind he sat on the rug of their sitting room floor, building a Lego house with Sarah, amiably arguing about who should use the last red block.

* * *

Beside his daughter and his granddaughter, inside the sleeping Robert, sixty-eight years of enjoyable cheeses, cream, and Fruit and Nut bars were doing their work. Arteriosclerosis, a final layer of built up plaque, settled in his left artery, narrowing and hardened, the remaining elasticity of the tubular muscle ceasing. Blood gushed to the damaged tunnel, slowing considerably as it forced its way through the ever-tightening gap.

* * *

All around Simon traffic honked and blared, the gridlock inescapable as 30,000 office workers attempted to escape the drudgery of the week and head back home to light barbeques before the good weather disappeared again.

The temporary lights tripped back to red, letting only three cars through. The roar of angry commuters was audible on the street through open car windows, as the temporary lighting system let only three cars through. Snatches of different radio stations competed in the air, and drivers tapped impatiently on their car roofs, their shirts sticking to their backs, dark patches appearing beneath their arms.

Sitting at the head of the queue, untroubled by the rage around him, Simon smiled. In his mind, he helped Sarah arrange plastic trees around the Lego house.

* * *

Robert’s breathing slowed. The Harry Potter book slipped to his side. A nurse put her head around the door and smiled at the peaceful scene. Grandfather slept soundly in the armchair. Mum slept with her head resting on the bed. In the centre, Sarah lay quietly.

Inside Robert, somewhere around his ankle, a random platelet activated, adhering to the wall of a blood vessel before being joined by another sticky little platelet. They formed a tiny white clot, which began travelling with the blood stream, slowly making its way up through his tweed trouser-clad leg.

* * *

Pulling up into Madron House car park, Simon stopped and let his head fall back against the headrest. He closed his eyes briefly and sank back into his mind. He watched Sarah put a Lego man into the house. She smiled up at him, love and trust twinkling in her eyes.

Simon opened his eyes and turned off the engine. He got out of the car and strode towards the hospice entrance, past the fountain with its engraved pebbles. In Reception, he walked straight past the desk. “I’m here to see Sarah.”

The nurse leapt up, following him along the corridor. “Dr. Bailey, your wife and father-in-law are with Sarah. We don’t believe she has much longer. We rang the moment her vital signs began dropping. We’re making her as comfortable as we can. Can I get you a cup of tea?” She trailed off as she noticed his expression.

Simon looked up at her, smiling. Her words barely rippled the pool of tranquility that formed a seal over his emotions.

The nurse waited, braced for abuse, anguish or questions but none were forthcoming. “Right, well – I’ll take you down there.”

They padded down the thickly carpeted hallway, arriving at Sarah’s doorway in silence. The nurse smiled quickly at Simon, then opened the heavy door and led the way into the room.

Simon glanced at the two sleeping adults and walked over to the book, which now lay on the floor, next to Sarah’s sleeping grandfather. He picked it up.

“They finished it.”

“I’m sorry?” The nurse unhooked a bag from the stand.

“Nothing.”

“Should I?” The nurse gestured towards Robert.

“No, don’t wake him.”

Melissa stirred and looked up at Simon, bleary eyed. “Hey you.”

“Hey you.”

They exchanged a sad smile.

The nurse interrupted. “I’ll be at reception if you want anything. Just buzz.”

Melissa and Simon both nodded as the nurse left.

Simon gestured towards Robert. “Your dad managed to finish it then.”

Melissa looked at her father. “He’s been reading non-stop for three hours. He was determined to get to the end of the book.”

“What happened?”

“Harry Potter wins. He grows up, gets married.”

“Oh. Sarah will like that.”

A tear trickled down Melissa’s face. “Yes. She will.”

“Where’s your mum, Mel?”

“She’s on her way. She was shopping. We didn’t … Where’s your mum and dad?”

Simon lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I haven’t rung them yet. There doesn’t seem much point – I mean, I’d like it just to be us. You know.”

“Yeah. I know. My dad’s…”

“He’s asleep. Leave him.” Simon looked at Sarah, sleeping peacefully as he had seen her sleep a thousand times before.

There was something slightly different now. Her features had arranged themselves into a mask of serenity. It was hard, looking at the little girl, to imagine she was feeling anything but quiet happiness and calm. Had Sarah been lying in her own whitewashed wooden bed with the hearts cut out of the headboard, it might have seemed as if she was sleeping after a long and exhausting day at the park.

He put his hand into his jacket pocket and closed his fingers around the four glass vials. Life saving, life ending. Simon knew what he must do.

For Simon realized that if wanted to see his daughter again, he would need to ensure his place in heaven. Hurting those who remained behind was not something that God – or Sarah - would want. He would see her again, one day. But for now he would have to wait.

The choice he thought he had had never really existed. To be a good man was the only option. A good man would never hurt those who loved him.

Simon moved to the corner of the room, lifted the one-way shutter lid of a sharps bin and let the ampoules fall from his hand into the irretrievable confines of the receptacle. He nodded to himself.

Returning to the bed, he gently moved the tube feeding morphine into the girl’s hand. Tenderly moving the drip over Sarah’s arm, he kicked off his shoes. Being careful not to wake or hurt her, he climbed onto the bed and wrapped himself around his sleeping daughter, his head cradled in his upper arm, his lips just grazing her ear.

Melissa held one of Sarah’s hands in her own. With her other, she took Simon’s.

* * *

In Robert, the tiny white mass was arriving at its destination. Like a piece of driftwood in a rain-engorged beck it stubbornly slammed against the entrance of the tunnel as it tried to pass through with the torrent. Unable to proceed, it blocked the passageway.

* * *

Simon squeezed Melissa’s hand. He could feel Sarah breathing - so very shallow - and his own breath sounded thunderous in comparison.

Lying there on the bed, with his child and his wife, he felt three years of anguish and anger slip away. His mind began to clear. The respite after months of furious thought and stress, was exquisite. As he drifted, balancing on a precipice between sleep and lucidity, he began to dream.

* * *

Robert stood before Simon. His exact position seemed unclear. The normal rules of perspective were blurred, though it seemed as though he were slightly above Simon.

Sarah’s grandfather, so familiar, so definitely him, was different. He was younger than Simon had ever known him. He wore old-fashioned tennis clothes, carried his racket in a much younger hand. At his feet, an enormous black and white cat wound between his tanned and youthful legs.

“Sarah!” Robert smiled towards Simon. His voice sounded younger too, the slight husk of age no longer there. “Come on darling! You’re to come with me now. Don’t dawdle. Winston wants to meet you, don’t you puss? You’re quite safe, pet. That’s a good girl. Come along now. There’s lots of people who can’t wait to say hello. That’s it, lovey.” Robert’s hand stretched out in encouragement, not quite at Simon, but in the direction in which he felt himself to be.

The waking dream faded to the purist white - a white that seemed to bathe him in a bright, soothing light. His own breathing slowed and Simon, exhausted, fell into a deep sleep beside his wife and child.

In his arms, Sarah was still.

~The End~

A Note from the author…

Thankfully, Simon and Melissa’s story is not mine and is entirely fictional. However, there are many parents who are living this nightmare.

W
hilst Madron House is also a product of my imagination, the similar children’s hospices around the country do amazing work looking after children in their last days and caring for the needs of their distraught parents.

It costs between 2.5 and 6 million pounds per annum to run a hospice. Most of this money has to be found from charity.

If you have been at all moved by this tale, perhaps you would take a moment to call a hospice and make a small donation. It doesn’t have to be much. Just £2 would buy a can of squirty cream for a Kayleigh. It would buy a goldfish for a Sarah. It would buy a cup of tea for a Melissa and it would buy a moment of kindness and counselling for a Simon.

C
hild Hospices UK: (44) 0117 989 7820