Hurt (The Hurt Series) (17 page)

‘Hey sexy, how’s it going?’

Never before had the sound of Ray’s voice felt so welcome. ‘I feel old,’ she sighed.

‘The other girls picking on you?’

‘They’re talking about boys and making me drink tequila shots.’

‘That’s it. They’re not coming to the wedding.’

She smiled to herself. ‘I don’t think even I have the power to stop them.’ Remembering Ray’s temperature this morning, she asked, ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Drunk.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I feel good.’

Of course he did. Ray never felt less than good. ‘Pulled any younger models yet?’

‘Couple of times, but then they out found I was marrying a copper. Turns out that’s a bit of a turn-off.’

Jessop sniggered. ‘Women.’

‘Tell me about it?’

She watched Chloe enter the kitchen to fetch more limes. With her usual minimal makeup, straw blonde hair hanging loose, and wearing a baggy t-shirt, jeans, with no shoes or socks, her
barefooted
daughter had never looked so stunning. Jessop felt her chest swell with love for the girl. ‘How’re you holding up, sweetie?’

‘Better than you by the looks of it. That Ray on the phone?’

‘Huh-huh.’

‘Tell him he owes me a tenner.’

‘What for?’

Chloe placed a handful of sliced limes on a saucer, went to leave, but not before glancing up at the clock on the wall. ‘He’ll know.’

To Ray, Jessop said, ‘Chloe says you owe her a tenner.’

‘Shit. What time is it?’

‘Just gone ten-thirty. Wanna explain?’

‘Only if you promise you won’t be mad?’

‘Nope.’

‘I bet Chloe you’d be calling it a night at ten-thirty.’

‘You think I’m a lightweight?’

‘Course not, my precious. I think you have a demanding job, which you work hard at, and - ’

‘Save it for when you get home, old man. There’s still plenty of tequila left. Me and you - shots. We’ll see who’s the lightweight in this house.’

Half an hour later she was spread out fully clothed on her duvet and wishing the damn room would stop spinning.

Chapter
Forty-one

Wednesday, November 1
^st

Her first lucid thought: the urgent need to pee.

Her second: why was her mouth so dry and her head so muzzy?

Reluctantly Jessop opened one heavy eye. Although her flesh felt warm and clammy the bedroom was cool and dark but for a crack of dawn through the curtains. Only then did she recall the evening’s drinking.

A groan escaped her parched lips as the waistband on the jeans she’d neglected to take off before bed compressed her aching bladder. With every ounce of her strength, she hoisted herself off the bed and stumbled half blind out of the bedroom onto the dark landing. Head thick and pounding, she took a moment to orientate herself with the three closed doors before her. The nearest was Chloe’s room. Adjacent, the guest room, where Vicky and Brooke were sharing a bed. Satisfied she was heading in the right direction she padded to the closed bathroom door and pushed it open.

The light from inside speared the ache behind her half-closed eyes and had her blinking against the pain to grasp some clarity.

She hadn’t considered why the light would be on in the dead of night until she saw Ray stood over the toilet urinating.

‘Oops. Sorry…’

One hand rested against the wall, Ray turned his head toward her. Beneath his lank silver hair his face was screwed into a mask of pain, its stubbly cheeks damp with tears.

Time seemed to freeze as her booze-soaked rationale struggled to make sense of the surreal scene before her.

Was she dreaming?

‘I’m sorry,’ Ray groaned before turning back to look into the bowl.

‘About what?’ she heard herself say. But then she followed Ray’s gaze into the toilet and saw the blood trickling into the bowl.

Her bladder let go, and she knew she was awake.

Chapter
Forty-two

The Faulkners had just returned from a scorching and exhausting fortnight at Disney World Florida. The holiday had been a dream for the eight-year-old twins, Daniel and Megan. They were still buzzing from the new Harry Potter ride and all the sugar and carbs they had consumed during the holiday of holidays. Their parents, Lee and Jane, were knackered and had made a promise to one another at the airport to forego the unpacking until the evening in favour of a decent cup of tea followed by a long sleep in the comfort and familiarity of their own bed.

The twins, having slept on the plane, suffered no such lethargy, and no sooner had they dumped their bags then they were out in the back garden recreating the thrills and spills of Orlando beneath the dawn’s growing light.

No sooner had Jane flicked the kettle on and poured the milk from the carton purchased at the airport then both she and Lee had heard the screams from the garden.

They had spent the last two weeks listening to their children screaming, but these screams were different. These screams were not born from excitement and adrenaline, from the thrill of being flung at speed around a magical castle or dropping over the edge of a forty-foot water drop. No. These screams came from somewhere both parents never ever wanted to acknowledge existed within their precious children.

Lee was out of the kitchen first, sprinting down the length of the expansive lawn towards the dense crop of bamboo at the foot of the garden which hid the twin’s secret garden.

Here there was the rope swing Lee had constructed four years ago, along with the ladder which led up to the secluded tree house he had built for the twins. On arriving through the trees he had run into his children, who were crying and yelling and pointing up at the tree house. Unable to understand what they were saying, Lee ascended the wooden ladder to see what all the fuss was about.

The smell hit him first: spoiled meat. Spoiled, putrid meat and shit and something so foul he could not convert to words.

And of course there were the flies. He would never forget the flies.

Chapter
Forty-three

Seated in the kitchen neither of them had touched the coffee Ray had made. And neither of them had spoken since Ray had given Jessop the hospital report.

Despite her banging head and blurry eyes she’d read the lengthy report twice, whilst Ray looked on from across the kitchen table in silence. After learning the cancer had spread from Ray’s prostate to his pelvis and Lymph nodes, and that the only course of treatment available to him now was Chemotherapy, she had only one question for the solemn man opposite her:

‘So when do you start?’

With his muddy eyes heavy with sincerity, Ray answered, ‘Next week. I’m sorry.’

‘About what?’

‘The honeymoon.’

The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind. She placed the report on the table next to the cancer support leaflets Ray had been given at the hospital. She’d read them too, but did not subscribe to what they were selling. She was a realist not an optimist, and by being so refused to believe anything written for the purpose of tinting the future rosy. Because the cold, hard fact was, Ray’s prostate cancer was as aggressive as it got. The Chemotherapy, if it worked, may prolong his life but it would not save it. Eventually − could be weeks, could be months, or it could be years − Ray would die from the disease or some related illness.

‘Are you in pain?’

‘Sometimes. Pissing aint been much fun recently, as you’ve seen. I thought it was a bladder or kidney infection, which was why I went to the doc’s.’

‘When did you have the tests?’

Ray fingered one of the leaflets absently. ‘Couple of weeks ago.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘There was nothing to tell until I knew for certain.’ Ray reached a hand across the table and placed it gently on hers.

Jessop pulled her arm away. ‘Nothing to tell? You were ill enough to go to the doctor, weren’t you?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Are you? I mean, are you really?’ She could barely see him through her tears. This was good because at that moment she couldn’t stand the sight of him. This was not because of his withholding the truth about his illness, but because she was crawling with guilt for berating him now when she should be supporting him. ‘I’m resigning.’

Ray shook his head. ‘No. I don’t want that.’

‘Tough, it’s happening. ’

‘Listen, Catherine − ’

‘You’re ill, Ray. And once you’ve begun the chemotherapy you’re going to be sick and weak.’

‘Don’t forget bald.’ Ray flicked his long silver hair playfully.

‘Don’t you fucking joke about this! Don’t you dare!’ She snatched up the leaflets in her fist. ‘One in three, Ray! One in fucking three survive what you have for more than five years. I suggest if you want to be that one in three you start showing this thing some fucking respect!’

Ray nodded his head, a typically slow and slight gesture. ‘I’ll show it respect,’ he whispered, ‘but what I won’t do is show it fear. Which is why I want us to carry on as normal as we can.
Which
means you carrying on working.’

Just then her mobile rang. She eyed the caller ID: Mason. Calling about a complaint made against her by Dodd?

‘You gonna answer that?’ Ray asked. ‘Could be important.’

‘Not as important as this.’ She let it ring off.

Ray sighed, crossed his arms. ‘We start making concessions in our lives and our jobs then it’s already won. I might as well just lay down and die now.’

Jessop couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘You expect me to just ignore it?’

‘No. I know that’s impossible. But we can’t let it dictate our lives.’ Ray stood and walked around the table to her side. He snaked an arm round her shoulders and pulled her close. She could feel his heart beat: slow, rhythmic, reassuring. Incredible, even now, with mankind’s most deadly foe growing inside him Ray was as cool and collected as ever. Was that because he was in denial? This was a common response to such devastating news, and one that could have dire consequences to all involved if not addressed quickly. She wondered if that was the reason he’d left it so long to get a checkup. Ray, the consummate optimist. But at what cost?

‘Do me a favour,’ he whispered in her ear.

‘What?’

‘Call Mason back. See what he wants.’

‘Whatever it is, he can handle it.’

‘Would you have answered if I hadn’t told you about the cancer?’ Ray pushed her away gently and looked her in the eye. ‘I need you to answer your phone. Every time you break routine it’ll remind me of my condition. And before you claim that you think I’m in denial, let me assure you I’m not.’

Jessop flinched. She hated people reading her thoughts; even Ray. ‘It’s not uncommon.’

‘But I am. I, like you, am a realist. I’ve accepted I have cancer, and that I’m in for a world of hurt over the coming months. And yes, I realise this time next year I − ’

‘Don’t.’

‘− I might not be here. So while I am, I want to live as normal a life as possible. I have no regrets so far, and I don’t want to start now by watching the woman I love suffer for something which is no one’s fault and is out of our control.’

She understood what he was asking, of course she did. She also knew he wouldn’t ask this of her if he wasn’t certain she was capable of such willpower. ‘What about the girls?’

‘I don’t see why this can’t wait till after the wedding. That is, if you still want to marry me.’

‘Of course I do.’

‘It’s important to them, Cathy, you know that. Next week I’ll invite Vicky round and I’ll tell them together.’

‘No.
We’ll
tell them.’

Her mobile rang again. Mason’s name flashed on the screen. Both she and Ray stared at the phone in silence. They were both aware of the significance of her next move. She did not want to answer. To do so would be like admitting the job took priority over Ray’s health. But to not answer would be going against Ray’s wishes, thus inflicting even more pain upon him.

She looked to the man beside her. There was a quiet sadness in his eyes as he stared at the ringing phone. She knew he would never make her go against her judgment, and would accept her decision to forfeit her notice and be by his side from today onwards. He would neither grumble nor play the guilt card at her decision. But neither would she see that glint back in his eyes. She would be as guilty for robbing him of his life as the cancer was.

‘What is it?’ she answered.

‘Ready for some good news?

Chapter
Forty-four

Brooke drove whilst Jessop sat quietly in the passenger seat consumed with guilt: guilt for lashing out at Ray, guilt for leaving him now after what she had just learned, and guilt for feeling as excited as she did at Mason’s news under the circumstances.

Ray had sensed her anguish when she’d hung up. He’d hugged her tight, and when their eyes had met again the sadness in his was gone, replaced by the roguish glint. And toying upon his lips, that mischievous smirk. For normality had resumed in the guise of disruption. This was his wish. He was not trying to be heroic for her sake. Normality was what he truly craved now, and according to him, would be the deciding factor in getting him through this.

Easy to say now. But life was going to be far from normal once he’d started the treatment.

‘I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life so far in three words: It goes on.’

Her throat tightened as she fought back a welling tear. Only then did she notice the car slowing down as they arrived at the address Mason had given her.

The detached city house was tidy looking and had a modest, well maintained front garden and a newly laid brick driveway. Mason met her at the front door and ushered them through to the kitchen where the Faulkner family were sat around a table. Looking as pale and tired as Jessop felt, Jane Faulkner offered coffee, which she gratefully accepted as she and Mason stepped into the back garden and watched the coroner wheel Nathan Randal’s body away.

‘Cause of death?’ she asked Mason.

‘No sign of external injury or violence. May have broking a rib and punctured a lung during the fall.’