No Reason To Die

Nine

The hospice was in a modern purpose-built building on the outskirts of Newton Abbot. Kelly had been there once before, to visit an old friend who had died in the hospice the previous year, and had hoped never to have cause to step foot in the place again.

When he had made his first visit, the atmosphere had not been what he had expected. The hospice was a calm and peaceful establishment where the nursing was both unobtrusive and highly efficient, as well as noticeably caring. Kelly thought the staff who worked there were remarkable. It was not a job he could do, that was for certain. However you dressed it up, people went into a hospice to die, and Kelly didn’t think he could cope with that.

He tapped lightly on the door to Moira’s room. Jennifer opened it, smiled and ushered him in. All three girls were gathered round Moira’s bed. But they rose to leave almost as soon as Kelly arrived.

‘You’ll want to be alone with Mum,’ said Jennifer. ‘In any case, we could do with a cup of tea or something.’

Kelly nodded. As ever, none of the girls had uttered a word of criticism. They did not know, of course, that to his further shame, Kelly was not at all sure that he did want to be alone with Moira, but he could not possibly say so. He sat by the bed, very close to her, and put his hand over one of hers.

Moira smiled weakly at him. She looked terribly ill, but Kelly could see that she was genuinely pleased to see him.

‘I’m so sorry...’ he began.

Moira kept smiling. ‘Aren’t you always?’ she said very quietly.

‘I guess, I am,’ he smiled back.

‘You do love me, though, John, don’t you?’

‘Oh yes, my darling, I love you, I really do love you.’

That was easy. Seeing her lying there, so terribly poorly, he felt quite overwhelmed by love. But he also knew that the manner of his love for Moira had all too often been inadequate. A psychologist, who had seemed to Kelly to be blessed with far more common sense than most of his kind, had once told him that the trouble with love is that it means different things to different people. Kelly was all too aware that while it was the absolute truth that he loved Moira dearly, it did not necessarily mean that he loved her in the way she loved him. Moira was so much more steadfast than him, for a start. She had never let him down, not once in ten years, which was certainly more than Kelly could say.

‘I love you, too, John.’

‘I know that, darling. You don’t have to tell me. Don’t tire yourself...’

‘No, I want to tell you. There’s so much I want to say, John, you won’t lose touch with the girls, will you?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘They’ll be all right, all of them, I’m sure. I had good insurance, as you know, so there’ll be a little bit of money for them each, and there’s the house, of course. But Jennifer is only nineteen. It’s very young to be left on your own. And Lynne’s only a couple of years older. At least Paula is married and has a family of her own, and I know Lynne and Jennifer can visit her and Ben whenever they want, but none the less...’

Moira’s voice tailed off. Kelly didn’t know quite what to say.

‘She looks upon you as her father, you know that, John,’ Moira continued. ‘You’ve been a damned sight better to her than her own father ever was, that’s for sure.’

Jennifer’s own father had beaten his wife and more or less ignored his daughters. Everything in life is relative. Kelly hoped to God that he had been better to all of Moira’s girls than Peter Simmons had been. But he knew only too well that he had been a bloody lousy father to his own son. To Nick. It was funny how life paid little tricks like that.

‘I look upon Jennifer as my daughter, Moira,’ Kelly said. And that was almost true, too. But then, Jennifer had put few demands on him, which had made it all right. Kelly was never very good at coping with demands.

‘So, you’ll keep an eye on her, spend some time with her.’ Moira’s voice was little more than a whisper now. Kelly could see that even the smallest exertion drained her.

‘Of course I will.’

Kelly was distinctly uncomfortable. Moira was giving him instructions about what she would like him to do after she was dead. That was perfectly clear. And yet, as ever, the ‘d’ word was never actually used. Kelly found himself once more wishing he wasn’t at her bedside to hear this. Wasn’t with her at all. It was dreadful, he knew, but he just wanted to be anywhere in the world, doing anything, absolutely anything at all, other than sitting at Moira’s bedside watching her die, while knowing that the terrible reality of what was happening would never be addressed. Not ever. Moira had been a nurse, and yet in spite of that, or maybe because of that, she had never wanted to discuss any aspect of her illness and what it meant. Quite possibly, because she knew only too well exactly what it meant.

‘Don’t try to talk, darling,’ he said. ‘Don’t tire yourself. You just rest and I’ll stay here beside you.’

He squeezed her hand and felt her squeeze back. But it was almost imperceptible. Her eyes were closed. She seemed to be drifting off again. After a bit, he wasn’t sure if she was sleeping or unconscious.

He rang the bell for a nurse. One came very quickly, leaning over Moira and gently taking her pulse.

‘It’s hard to say, really, exactly what’s going on,’ she said. ‘But as long as she’s peaceful, not in too much pain, not distressed, well...’ She straightened up from the bed, just a young woman, a slip of a thing with long pale hair tied back in a ponytail, little more than a girl, and yet doing this extraordinary job. Kelly didn’t know what to say to her.

The nurse turned to face him directly. ‘Well, that’s the best we can hope for now,’ she said quietly.

Kelly nodded. Jennifer and Paula returned as the nurse left. Kelly saw that they both looked worn out.

‘Look, I’ll stay with your mother tonight,’ he told them. ‘Why don’t you both go home, get some rest. Neither of you got much last night, did you?’

The girls, in particular Jennifer, protested at first but eventually gave in to their obvious exhaustion and agreed to leave. At least this is something I can do for them, Kelly thought, at least I can give them the chance to rest.

One of the nurses brought him a cushion and a blanket, and he settled in the armchair by the bed, watching Moira for any change. Her breathing was shallow. Her eyes were closed. She lay very still. Kelly found the whole situation quite terrifying.

His chair was not particularly comfortable and his mind was in turmoil. He did not think there was a chance of him sleeping a wink, and indeed he did not want to sleep. He wanted to watch over Moira. That was, after all, what he was there for. He could hardly bear to think about what she must be going through, lying there just clinging on to life. Periodically a nurse visited to check on Moira. Once, she asked him if he would like a cup of tea, an offer he gratefully accepted. Midnight came and went, then one, two and three o’clock. But from then on, it seemed that he was not aware of very much until Jennifer returned in the morning. He was disturbed by the sound of a door opening and someone moving around in the room, and he opened his eyes to see her there, just as she gave Moira a kiss on her forehead.

‘Hi,’ he said, rubbing his fingers over his stubbled chin and his tongue across furry teeth. ‘I... I must have dozed off.’

‘That’s allowed, John.’ Jennifer smiled at him. She looked like a different person this morning from the exhausted young woman he had sent off home the previous night. Her skin glowed, her hair shone from an obviously recent shampoo, and her eyes were bright and clear. She seemed totally refreshed.

Kelly glanced at his watch. It was only 7.30 a.m. But Jennifer had obviously managed a good night’s sleep. Kelly wondered at the resilience of youth.

‘How’s she been?’ Jennifer asked.

Kelly hesitated for a moment. The bitter truth was that he hadn’t a clue. Although he would not have believed it possible, he must have slept for at least four hours, and even based on the time he had been awake before that, just sitting and watching Moira, he did not know how to answer Jennifer’s question.

How had Moira been? Asleep or unconscious? He did not know the answer to that. Waiting to die? That was the correct answer, he reckoned, but it was one you did not give. Not in this family, anyway. Maybe not in most. Kelly didn’t know. He had never spent the night sitting beside the bed of a dying woman before. And he rather hoped he never would again.

‘The same,’ he said, eventually.

‘Ah.’ Jennifer smiled tenderly down at her near-comatose mother. Kelly stood up, stretching aching, cramped limbs. One leg had gone to sleep. He held on to the foot of the bed as he made his way clumsily over to where Jennifer was standing.

‘Thank you for staying with Mum,’ she said.

Kelly just nodded. He didn’t reckon he deserved any thanks. Not with his track record.

He stared down at the recumbent figure on the bed. He couldn’t explain quite what he felt. At that moment, he possibly loved Moira more than ever before. And yet, at the same time, he could barely recognise her as the woman he had shared his life with. She had changed quite dramatically since he had last seen her, only a couple of days earlier. She was so horribly thin, wasted really, and deathly pale. But it wasn’t that. It was more that the very core of her no longer seemed to be there. As if her soul had somehow already left her. She just didn’t seem to be Moira any more.

Then she opened her eyes.

Kelly felt a hot, sweet rush of shock course through his body. He realised then, that although he had not even formulated the thought, he hadn’t ever expected Moira to open her eyes again. But her eyes brought her to life again. She was back. Perhaps not for long, but she was back.

‘Good morning, darling,’ said Jennifer, sounding wonderfully normal, if a little more gentle in her greeting than she would have been were her mother well. That was, however, the only difference.

Kelly tried to wish Moira good morning, too. The words stuck in his throat. He could not bring himself to wish for her to have another day in this life in the state she was in. He did not wish to see her suffer any more. He hadn’t a clue what to say. He just couldn’t speak. This whole bedside scene seemed like a kind of charade to him.

He leaned forward and took Moira’s hand. The tears were pricking the backs of his eyes. He felt he did not have the right to cry, because he considered his behaviour throughout so much of Moira’s illness to have been thoroughly tardy. And yet he did care. He really cared.

‘You’re still here, then.’ Moira, quite incredibly, Kelly thought, managed a small wan smile. It seemed to him even more incredible that she had managed to speak, in an unreal hoarse whisper, forcing the words out as if they caused her real pain, which they almost certainly did. Then she winced and sank deeper back into the pillows. The effort of managing those few words, of making contact again with a world she had almost left behind, had obviously been extreme. She was awake, but she was even weaker than she had been the previous evening.

Kelly just nodded. He could feel his eyes filling up with tears. He was fighting to regain control. Jennifer turned to look at him.

‘You can go home now, John,’ she said, speaking to him almost as gently as she had addressed her mother. ‘Lynne and Paula will be here any minute. They’re just making some phone calls and sorting one or two things out, but they won’t be long. You have to work, John. Mum wouldn’t want you to stop.’

Kelly hesitated, ashamed of himself yet again when he realised how much he wanted to get out of that sickroom. But he mustn’t let that show. He really mustn’t.

‘No, I’ll s-stay, of course I’ll stay,’ he said.

Then he felt Moira squeeze his hand, and somehow she managed to find the strength to do so rather more forcefully than she had the previous night. Her eyes were closed again and, for a moment, he thought that the grip was just a reflex action. He squeezed back. It seemed all that he could do. Then Moira spoke again, eyes still shut, gripping his hand with more strength than he would have thought possible. The voice was even weaker than before, but the words were strong enough.

‘Go home, John, get writing, you idle bastard,’ Moira ordered. And she took her hand away from his.

Kelly’s throat tightened involuntarily. It was almost as if he were choking. He was finding it hard to swallow and even harder to breathe normally. He was very close to breaking down. He feared that he was going to make a complete fool of himself and knew that he would only embarrass Moira, who had never been one for displays of emotion.

‘I’ll see you both later, then,’ he muttered, as he headed gratefully for the door.

Once outside in the corridor, he could no longer control himself. The tears he had tried so hard to contain began to fall. The trembling and shaking he had experienced the previous night, when he had, for a moment, really thought that Moira was gone, overwhelmed him again.

He knew there was a gents’ toilet at the end of the corridor and he headed for it in a hurry. The tears were falling freely, rolling down his face into his shirt collar, and he was no longer able even to attempt to stop their flow. He broke into a run, nearly knocking over a nurse coming out of the room next to Moira’s. Afraid that she might try to speak to him, he did not pause to turn towards her, let alone apologise. Instead he ran all the faster, flinging open the door to the gents’ and throwing himself in. Only when he had managed to lock himself into a cubicle, did he finally let go. And then he just cried and cried.

Great sobs wracked Kelly’s body. All the pent-up emotions of the last few months poured out of him. He felt as if he was never ever going to stop weeping. And he wasn’t even sure that he wanted to.

For several minutes, Kelly just gave in totally to despair.

Eventually he did stop weeping, of course.

He dried his tears, splashed cold water on his red, swollen eyes, then set off for the car park, keeping his head down. He didn’t want anyone to see that he had been crying.

Once inside the little MG, he rummaged in the glove department for the battery-operated shaver he kept there. Kelly had been an on-the-road journalist for virtually the whole of his adult life, until just a few months ago. He always carried his passport and a major credit card in full working order. And he always had basic toiletries to hand. Old habits died hard.

As he ran the shaver over his stubbled jaw, he used his mobile to call Nick. He wanted to warn him of Moira’s deterioration. But even though it was not yet quite eight o’clock, there was no reply either from Nick’s home number or his mobile. However, Nick, unlike his father, was naturally an early riser and would already be well into his working day. He worked from home but, even if he was in, was inclined, Kelly knew, to ignore his phone if he was busy on the computer, which seemed to demand so much of his time.

Kelly left a short, sad message explaining that Moira was now in a hospice, and then contemplated what to do next.

He needed a cup of tea, he reckoned, before he could even think straight. His mouth felt dry and his tongue and teeth were furry. He also wanted to clean his teeth and have a quick wash, and he knew exactly where to go to achieve all three aims.

He started the engine, saying a small prayer as he did so, because he had left his mobile phone plugged into the car charger all night. The battery seemed to have remained healthy enough. The car started on the second turn. Kelly headed on to the Torquay road but pulled into the first lay-by not far out of Newton Abbot, where a mobile, roadside snack bar was invariably to be found just yards away from a Portakabin public convenience. Kelly visited the loo first and quickly completed his toilet before buying two paper cartons of tea at the snack bar. He sniffed them appreciatively as he ambled back to his car. Bob, the owner, made good strong tea with proper tealeaves and was always generous with the sugar.

Kelly drank one of the cartons of tea almost straight down, scalding his tongue, which at least might take some of the fur off it, he reflected, because cleaning his teeth had only half done the job. Then he began to attempt to plan his day. He knew all too well that there was only one way for him to cope with emotional turmoil. He needed to bury himself in his work. And yet the thought of working on his novel held even less appeal than usual.

The Hangridge affair, on the other hand, was becoming quite fascinating.

He used his mobile to try to call Karen Meadows.

She was not in her office yet, which he supposed was not really surprising as it was still only twenty minutes past eight, and neither was she answering her mobile phone. He would have to try again later.

In any case, he now knew exactly what his next move was going to be. He wanted to talk to Jocelyn Slade’s mother.

Mrs Foster had been able to supply him with an address for Mrs Slade, the mother of her son’s girlfriend, although she had told Kelly she could not swear that it was current. Margaret Slade lived in Reading. Kelly thought for a moment before deciding to go home first. It might be helpful for him to log onto the Net and do a little research into the Devonshire Fusiliers before making any more Hangridge inquiries, and a shower and a change of clothes might also be a good idea, he reflected.

Then he would set off to drive to Reading, a journey he would expect to take between three and three and a half hours on a bad day, and yet again he would arrive unannounced. So far, his policy had provided plenty of results.

Kelly’s brain was buzzing again. He had always so much more enjoyed looking into other people’s lives rather than his own.