Heller's Regret (30 page)

During the taxi ride back to the hotel, I
dared to suggest to her that as Agatha had been so successful
today, making her mother proud, then maybe she might allow me to
take her daughter to the zoo the next day. Agatha’s eyes lit up
and, in a buoyant mood, Mrs Namoy indulgently agreed to allow her a
totally free day.

My excitement about that died as soon as I
joined Brian, Gayle and Mum at the hospital that evening. Mum was
peakier and thinner. I sat next to her, my arm around her. She
seemed distracted, often not responding to questions, all her
concentration on Dad. It was a long visit, Gayle visibly exhausted
in the late stage of her pregnancy and Brian not one for idle
chatting. For a long while the only sound in the room came from the
regular beeping of the various machines to which Dad was hooked
up.

There were a lot of things requiring
discussion within the family, but as they all mostly involved
‘what-ifs’, nobody wanted to broach them at this point, least of
all me.

I tried to shake off the little black cloud
following me around the next morning so I could be cheerful for
Agatha. Plastering on my best smile, I knocked and knocked on the
door to their suite. Nobody answered. Confused, I went back
downstairs to the foyer. I explained to a sympathetic reception
staff member I had an appointment with Mrs Namoy that morning, but
it didn’t appear that anyone was in the suite. Had she left me a
message?

The staff member, who turned out to be
obliging as well as sympathetic, though perhaps not as discreet as
she ought to have been, checked the hotel records. “I’m sorry.
You’ve missed them. They checked out earlier this morning. I
believe they were picked up by the airport shuttle bus.”

“Are you sure?” I asked in stunned
disbelief.

“Yes, I’m positive,” she responded, a little
less polite than before. “I read that directly from our
records.”

“No messages for me?”

“No, I’m sorry. There’s none.”

“Thank you.”

In my car I phoned Mrs Namoy. She may not
have asked for my phone number, but the first thing I did was to
request hers.

To my surprise, she actually answered. Sounds
of muffled announcements and a general buzz of conversation and
people moving around in the background confirmed they were still at
the airport. Perhaps their plane had been delayed.

“Yes?” she snapped. I wondered if this was
her normal way of answering her phone as I’d never phoned her
before, so she couldn’t know it was me ringing.

“Mrs Namoy, this is Tilly Chalmers.” A blank
silence followed, during which I drew in an impatient breath. “The
security officer you hired to look after Agatha.”

“Oh, yes. Look, if you’re ringing to enquire
about your pay, I’ve already settled the fee directly with the
company you work for, so I’m afraid you’ll need to take it up with
them.”

“I’m not ringing about that. Yesterday you
agreed I could take Agatha to the zoo today to celebrate her
success in gaining a place at the academy. I turned up to the hotel
to find you’d departed for the airport.

“So?”

I swallowed down my annoyance, but it left a
bitter taste in my mouth. “I wanted to know why you disappeared
instead of allowing Agatha to go to the zoo.”
And all without
bothering to let me know
, I thought, my anger building.

“I changed my mind, as simple as that. Agatha
is far too busy now to waste a day looking at animals. We have a
million things to do before we go overseas to settle her at the
academy. I’m sorry if you were inconvenienced in any way,” she said
with snotty insincerity.

“You
promised
Agatha. You broke a
promise to your child. You
lied
to her. I hope you’re
ashamed of yourself. Let me speak to her. I want her to know this
wasn’t my fault.”

“I most certainly will not let you speak to
her. And I don’t appreciate you ringing me up to harangue me. I
will be complaining to your boss about this incident. Very poor
professionalism in my mind.”

“While you’re at it, you can tell him I told
you that the biggest competitiveness Agatha has to fear in life all
comes from you!”

“How dare you? You’re unbelievably
impertinent.”

“And you’re unbelievably –”

She hung up on me, which was probably a good
thing, saving me from ruining my career at
Heller’s
again.

Poor Agatha – not even allowed one day of fun
and freedom. I didn’t even get the chance to wish her all the best
for her sojourn at the academy. None of this was fair.

I stomped bad-temperedly up the stairs of the
Warehouse to my flat. Daniel intercepted me as I passed the
office.

“Tilly, I’ve had a very irate phone call from
Mrs Namoy. She demanded to be put through to Clive when she heard
Heller was unavailable. I’m so sorry to have to do that to
you.”

I wasn’t going to take my temper out on him.
“It’s all right, Danny. She said she was going to complain about
me. Nice to know she barely drew a breath after we spoke to do
it.”

At my flat, my phone rang as soon as I
stepped inside. It was Clive, just to make my day that little bit
brighter.

“Get your arse down here now,” was all he
deigned to say.

Damn those stupid cameras everywhere
,
I thought, stomping even harder back down to the ground floor.

“What do you want?” I asked belligerently,
leaning on his doorway with my arms crossed in a very
non-submissive way. If he expected me to apologise to Mrs Namoy for
what I’d said, he’d end up a pile of dusty bones sitting in his
chair, waiting for something that was never going to happen. And
even with no flesh on his face, I bet his would be the only skull
in human existence that didn’t grin.

“You’ve been rude to a client and upset her.
Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t suspend you. Is there any
job you don’t fuck up in some way?”

“Get stuffed, Clive,” I said angrily, turning
on my heel and pushing through the crowd of men that always seemed
to materialise when I was getting into trouble.

“Get back here now!” Clive thundered. “I’m
not finished with you.”

“Tough shit.”

Putting my job – and probably my life – on
the line, I ignored his further rants, returning to my flat. I
barred the entrance with my ever-trusty chair, ignored every phone
call and knocking at my door for the rest of the day. I turned my
stereo up to ear-splitting volume and cleaned my flat from top to
bottom in an exhausting frenzy. I thought about having a little
party with myself, but decided that lunchtime was too early to
begin drinking. And besides, I didn’t feel like any alcohol,
wanting to be able to drive to the hospital to visit Dad in the
afternoon.

It was another somber visit, Dad not showing
even the slightest sign of improvement. A couple of Dad’s friends
and relatives dropped by while I was there, but I had no good news
to share with them.

Heading home again that evening, exhaustion
hit me in a tidal wave. That night I dreamed of a forgotten
incident that happened when I was about eight-years-old. Mum had
been angry with me for breaking one of her favourite vases, one of
a matching pair my parents had received as a wedding present from a
long-deceased family member – perhaps an aunt or great-aunt. She’d
warned me at least five times that morning not to kick my soccer
ball around the house, but to go outside instead. I hadn’t
listened, and though in my mind I’d kicked a winning goal, I’d also
kicked myself into a lot of trouble as Mum’s rarely-seen wrath
descended on my head. Her harsh words shattered my jubilation every
bit as much as I’d shattered that precious vase with my (imaginary
game-winning, crowd-thrilling) goal.

Normally a loving parent who dealt lightly
and sensibly with childish transgressions, I knew I’d really upset
her when she threatened to ban me from all television viewing for a
month, as well as stopping my pocket money for two months. Dad, the
peacemaker, had stepped in between us. He’d reminded her that the
vase was just an inanimate object, whereas I was a living,
breathing vessel who would one day display the benefits of all the
love and lessons poured into me during my life by the two people I
trusted more than anyone. Those had been exactly the right words to
say to her, and she’d left the room, softly telling Dad to deal
with me himself, however he saw fit.

He’d sat me down, and in his serious, calm
voice pointed out that Mum and he didn’t set rules to make my life
difficult, but to keep me safe and to help guide my behaviour. He
reminded me it was important for me to abide by their rules,
because it was respectful to them and beneficial to me.

His gentle reprimand left me in a flood of
tears. I tried to make it up to Mum afterwards by being her helpful
little assistant around the house whenever I wasn’t in school. And
when I was older and had some rare money jingling in my pocket
after one of my infrequent gigs, I’d scoured second-hand stores and
online auction sites until I found a replica vase to match the
lonely remaining singleton of the pair. Mum was thrilled with my
gift and I felt proud that I’d finally been able to right the wrong
that I’d done all those years ago.

My phone ringing at two in the morning
dragged me from sleep. I sprang up, reaching for it, fearing it was
something to do with Heller.

“Tilly,” said Brian in a broken watery voice
that chilled me to my bone. “Come to the hospital now. It’s Dad.
It’s . . .” He struggled to speak for a moment. “It’s bad. Really
bad.”

Chapter 22

Not even stopping to brush out my bed hair, I
threw on some clothes, slipped a note under Daniel’s door and
stumbled down to the garage. Later, I couldn’t remember the drive
to the hospital, or parking the car, or racing to Dad’s room.

When I arrived, everybody was already there,
standing or sitting around Dad’s bed, red eyes all around. Mum
hunched over the bed, her face full of desolation.

Dad’s shirt had been cut off and he lay above
the blankets and sheets, dressed only in a hospital gown. Most of
the electrical devices monitoring his signs had been disconnected,
as had the IV bags. An oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose was
his sole remaining piece of medical assistance. All colour had
drained from his face, and his hands felt cold to the touch,
appearing a waxy yellow in colour.

“Why is everything turned off?” I
demanded.

“Dad had another major heart attack about
midnight,” Brian explained, pulling out his hanky to wipe his nose.
“His vital signs have considerably weakened since then, some of
them are now almost imperceptible.”

“Tilly, there’s nothing more the staff can do
for him,” Sean said gently.

“There’s
always
something they can
do,” I insisted. “Get them back in here and make them do
something!”

“Tilly,” Brian said, looking away.

“And what’s all this bruising on his feet?” I
asked him, distressed. “What have they been doing to him? They
haven’t been trying to make him walk, have they? He’s unconscious,
for heaven’s sake.”

“Tilly,” he choked out. “Dad’s blood’s
coagulating in his extremities. See, his fingers are starting to
show that bruised effect as well. His body’s shutting down. All his
oxygen and blood is being directed to his essential organs like his
brain and his heart. It’s his body’s last attempt to keep him
alive.”

I clamped my hand over my mouth, tears
stinging my eyes. I kept shaking my head in denial.

Dad laboured to breath, even with the
assistance of the oxygen. He weakly reached a hand out into the air
a couple of times as if trying to capture something.

It was a long, and yet far too short, couple
of hours watching him, none of us daring to step out of the room
for a second. One of the nurses closed his door, giving us some
privacy. That cut out the general clatter of the hospital, but only
emphasised the rattle of Dad’s chest as he found it harder and
harder to breathe. The mottling of the skin on his feet and hands
became more pronounced.

Brian grasped his hand, leaning down to say
to him, “It’s okay to let go, Dad. You’ve done the most wonderful
job as a father and a husband and we all love you. Don’t worry
about Mum. We’ll look after her.”

Dad’s breath hitched as though
responding.

A doctor came in with a sympathetic face to
check on him. “Nothing indicates your father is in any pain or we’d
give him some morphine. Please ask one of the nurses to page me if
you need me or if your father seems to be in any distress.
Otherwise . . .” He made an expansive gesture with his hands. “I’m
sorry.”

One of the hospital’s social workers came in
after him to speak a few consoling words that none of us listened
to. He assured us again that Dad was in no pain and briefly
explained the post-mortem process at the hospital. I wanted to
scream at him to leave us alone and stop talking about things like
that, but Brian listened attentively, even though he probably knew
more about post-mortem processes than any of us.

An hour or so later, Dad spoke, very
distinctively saying, “Margie.”

My mother cried for the first time since he’d
been admitted, huge gulping sobs that shook her body. She kissed
his hand and his lips. He gurgled a breath, sighed deeply, and then
there was silence. We waited for him to take another breath, but
none followed.

And in that humble way, every bit as modest
as the way he’d lived every day, my father’s precious life slipped
away from us.

We were all a mess of tears afterwards,
hugging each other. It was a good couple of minutes before Brian
was able to buzz the nurse. She came into the room, took one look
at Dad before telling us she’d page the doctor.

His body began to change in front of us and
when I touched his hand, it was icy cold. I knew I’d never erase
that deathbed image from my mind.