Third to Die (11 page)

When the form was complete, she pushed it back towards the woman. She briefly eyed the details and then typed something into the computer positioned on the desk.

“Make sure you return the book before the borrowed date lapses, or else renew it via that machine there,” she pointed at what looked like an ATM located by the main doors. “Once you’ve finished, just drop it in the returns box.”

The librarian pointed in the opposite direction at said returns box. Brandy nodded gravely. Then the lady passed the book back to Brandy.

“Thank you,” Brandy enthused sincerely.

“It’s an exceptional book,” the woman smiled kindly. “I hope you enjoy it.”

Brandy beamed back at her and reiterated her thanks. As she left the library she felt as though she were walking on air. The librarian didn’t doubt that Brandy could read the book, she believed that she was great enough to read a great book. And she was, Brandy reminded herself. She was.

*

“So what are your plans for today?” Aiden looked across at his wife, who was trying to spoon-feed Meegan some porridge. Each time the plastic spoon neared her mouth she’d promptly turn away, causing Isla to smear porridge against her rosy cheek.

“Meegan!” Isla sighed in despair. “You need to eat your breakfast!”

“No!” Meegan declared before blowing a raspberry at her mother. Aiden had to stifle his laughter as he picked up his coffee mug. Even when his little daughter was misbehaving she was still adorable.

“It’s not funny,” Isla spotted his smirk from the corner of her eye and turned to scowl at him.

“She’s playing up more and more lately. She’s so stubborn!”

“Meegs, eat your breakfast like a good little girl,” Aiden’s voice was still but warm. Meegan immediately turned to look at Isla, her little mouth open and expectant.

Rolling her eyes, Isla dumped a spoonful of porridge onto her tongue.

“I don’t know how you do it,” she shook her head slightly.

“She’s just a daddy’s girl,” Aiden winked. “I wonder what the next one will be?”

“Maybe a mommy’s boy,” Isla suggested teasingly as she instinctively placed a hand over her stomach.

“Ahhh!” Meegan was trying to get her attention, her mouth hanging open, ready for more porridge. Isla promptly stuffed it with a fresh spoonful.

“Is the sickness still bad?” Aiden asked, his gaze drifting to his iPad on the table on which he’d loaded all the morning papers.

“It’s getting better.”

“You’re still not showing.” Aiden offered the comment casually but it made Isla tense.

“It’s early days,” she replied, her cheeks flushing. “I’ve got a hospital appointment this morning at ten to check how things are progressing.”

“Oh?” Aiden looked away from his digital newsfeed. “Are you going to be okay? You should have let me know, I’d have arranged to go with you.”

“It’s fine,” Isla shook her curly hair and smiled nervously at him. “You’re busy. I just want you there for the big things, for the scans.”

“Okay,” Aiden’s attention was once more solely on his iPad. He didn’t notice how tightly Isla now gripped the spoonful of porridge, how her knuckles had turned white.

“Why did you come back early?” she asked, suspicion creeping into her voice. Ever since Aiden had gone to Chicago under the pretence of work when really he’d been seeing Brandy, she’d fretted about where he was, where he was going. The trust between them was gone and she was doing everything she could to bring it back. She kept praying that her phantom baby would somehow glue them back together, that they would be solid before she had to pretend she’d lost it.

“You didn’t say last night, you were too tired,” she added casually, not wanting to appear like she was prying too forcefully.

“Edmond needs me to take him to his chemo appointment today,” Aiden replied as he tapped his iPad to open a new page. “Edna called me while I was in Greensburg.”

“Is that bad that they’ve brought it forward by a day?”

“I don’t think so, it happens.”

“More!” Meegan cried angrily, slamming her little palms down against her high chair. She looked at her mother with tears brimming behind her bright eyes as her mouth once again opened for the intake of porridge.

“You are such a little madam!” Isla declared as she spoonfed her daughter more of her breakfast.

“You should let her feed herself,” Aiden suggested, briefly looking up at them both.

“And have her end up covered in it! I don’t think so!”

“Well soon you’ll be nursing one and spoon-feeding another, can’t see that being very feasible.”

“Where are you in all this? Maybe you could be feeding Meegs?”

“Meegan’s spoon-feeding days will be long over before I’m involved!” Aiden quipped before tilting his wrist to check his watch. “Shit, I’m late,” he hastily stood up.

“Aiden.” Isla said his name as a warning. He knew what he’d done.

“Sorry, sugar!” he corrected, smiling sweetly at her. “But I’ve really got to go; I can’t be late for Edmond!” He hurried to the other side of the table and kissed first his wife and then his little daughter on their foreheads.

“I’ll see you tonight!” he dashed out of the front door before Isla even had chance to reply.

“Just you and me today then, kiddo,” Isla smiled at her daughter.

“More!” Meegan demanded, eyeing the spoonful of porridge her mother was holding. “More!”

*

Since Aiden wouldn’t be spending the day in the office, he’d opted to wear jeans and a T-shirt. He turned up the stereo and headed out of town towards Edmond’s luxurious home. He felt almost relaxed as he pulled into the familiar driveway. Then he remembered why he was there and he cut the music and placed his hands upon the steering wheel, taking a long intake of breath.

Edna opened the door before he’d had chance to ring the bell.

“Morning,” Aiden tried to sound bright.

“Thanks for coming,” Edna said quickly. She sounded a little breathless. “He’s pretty weak today,” she began walking towards the lounge, expecting Aiden to follow.

“I managed to get him dressed, but he’s going to either need to go in his wheelchair or use his sticks.”

“I’m fine!” chortled a friendly voice from behind the lounge doors. The voice had depth and warmth. It sounded like the old Edmond. Aiden half-expected for Edna to part the doors and his colleague to be sat in there in his golfing gear, a cheeky grin plastered across his previously chubby cheeks;

“I’ve made the most miraculous recovery!” he’d exclaim jovially. “So how about we skip all that boring nonsense in the hospital and go enjoy a round of golf together! I could do with picking up some new business,” he’d add at the end with a flamboyant wink.

But when Edna opened the doors into the lounge, there was no such sight to see, no such miracle to behold. Edmond was sat on the chair nearest the door wearing checked trousers and a polo shirt. On top of that he wore his housecoat and his feet were still in his slippers.

“He’ll get cold without it,” Edna whispered to Aiden as she slowed by the door. “I’ve told him to wear a coat but he insists that he’d rather be seen as eccentric than feeble. Apparently Hugh Hefner wears his housecoat and slippers all day.”

“I see.”

“The hospital don’t mind,” Edna added. “They always humour him.”

“Well aren’t you all dressed up with nowhere to go!” Aiden declared, forcing a smile.

“I do believe we have a date with some rather nubile nurses,” Edmond gave the cheeky comment but forgot to follow it up with a wink. He began to struggle to lift himself out of the chair. His arms seemed to lack the strength they once had. Rather than being able to assist him, they were now just a hindrance.

“Let me help you,” Aiden was by his side in a heartbeat, offering the use of his strong, young arms for support. Edmond paused briefly before taking it. Aiden registered the pained look in the older man’s eyes as he debated whether or not to forsake his pride. Ultimately he did, grabbing onto Aiden’s arm and managing to haul himself on to his feet.

“There!” he cried in triumph, looking across at Edna who was watching them intently with nervous eyes.

“Told you I could stand on my own two feet! And you said I needed that damn chair!”

“You’ll need it after your chemo,” Edna warned. “You know how much it tires you out.”

“Pfft.” Edmond began to shuffle out of the room under his own steam. His movements were slow but at least they were his and his alone. He was determined to hold onto as much of his independence as possible.

“I’ll put the wheelchair in my trunk,” Aiden whispered to Edna.

“Thank you,” her eyes crinkled in gratitude. She looked so impossibly tired. Like an oil painting left in the sun; her colour had faded but she was still a work of art; something to be admired.

Aiden had always envied the devotion Edmond and Edna had for one another. Their love was the kind that belonged in moves; where they had locked eyes in their youth and just known that it was right; known that they were destined to be together. When they uttered their vows before the altar they had meant them.

“Till death do us part.” They held true to their promise. Aiden felt his cheeks beginning to burn with shame when he considered how quickly he’d been willing to forsake his own vows. Even now his heart did not belong to Isla, it yearned for another. It made him feel like a fraud.

“He’ll be okay,” Edna placed a comforting hand upon Aiden’s arm, mistaking his flushed cheeks for sadness.

“He basically leaped up this morning when I told him you’d be taking him to the hospital. It will do him good to spend time with you. Take his mind off things…”

Edna’s words drifted away as she looked at her husband who was almost at the front door. His shuffling had proven faster than she’d anticipated.

“Edmond, don’t you go opening that door by yourself!” she chastised him. Her tone was reminiscent of the one Isla employed when dealing with Meegan during some of her more stubborn moods.

“I’ll open whatever door I damn well please!” Edmond snapped back. The mirth from his voice was gone. He suddenly sounded angry.

“Let me,” Aiden jogged up to his colleague and carefully pulled open the heavy front door, letting the crisp morning air spill into the hallway.

“It’s VIP treatment for you all the way,” he smiled kindly at the older man. “I don’t want you lifting a finger.”

“Why can’t you be like this at the office?” Edmond laughed, the glimmer of humour returning to his weary eyes.

*

Edmond was safely in the passenger seat.

“Shotgun!” he’d cried enthusiastically as he shuffled up to the car.

“Well, since you’ve called it,” Aiden smiled as he opened the door and helped him inside. Once he was in, Aiden had discreetly loaded the wheelchair into his trunk.

“Thank you,” Edna said softly.

“I know he’s proud but if he needs it, he needs it.”

“Not just for the chair, but for today,” Edna explained. “He needs me all the time lately. I don’t have any time…” she looked up and turned her head back towards the house, forcing her burgeoning tears back into her eyes, blinking them away.

“I feel guilty even thinking it but I need to get the groceries, to clean the house. Things I can’t normally do.”

“Can’t your children help?” Aiden knew that Edmond had many children, and even more grandchildren. The Copes were a large brood.

“He won’t let them,” Edna sighed. “He’s such a proud man. But I do need help.”

“Call them,” Aiden urged. “They’ll only be hurt if they’re denied the opportunity to help their father when he needs them most.”

“You’re right.” Edna pulled her lips into a sad smile. “I know you’re right. I’m just so tired all the time, I can’t think straight.”

“Call them today.”

“I will.” Edna nodded and wiped a hand across her eyes in case any tears had dared to fall.

“Where to?” Aiden asked his passenger as he turned the key in the ignition. “How about a road trip? Me, you, Vegas? Sound good?”

“Sounds brilliant.” Edmond smiled, but the shadows beneath his eyes had darkened. The effort of reaching the car had tired him significantly. “But can we go and get my chemo first?”

“Yes,” Aiden nodded in agreement. “That we can.”

Edna remained on the driveway and waved them off. Edmond was quiet for the first half of the journey but as his energy returned, he began fiddling with the radio, insisting that they listen to some decent music.

*

Edmond’s attention was waning as Aiden persevered with the crossword puzzle they were doing together.

“Any idea on six down; seven letters, another word for shimmer. Ends in ‘N’.” Aiden edged the puzzle within Edmond’s eye line as he spoke.

Slowly Edmond shook his head. The poison being directly poured into his veins was wearing him out. He looked unbearably pale and fragile in the large hospital armchair. Around him several other patients were also hooked up to drips. Some of them were nothing more than skeletons whilst others held fire in their eyes. They seemed to have the pluck and tenacity of a boxer in his final round, refusing to go down despite how brutal a beating they were given.

Edmond didn’t seem to be winning his fight. His head dropped against his chest as he dwelled on the periphery of sleep, coming in and out of consciousness. Normally he’d comment on the old lady in the corner dutifully knitting a never-ending scarf, of the voluptuous nurse who had cannulated him. Instead, as the liquid in the IV fed into his system he became oblivious to everyone in the room, even to Aiden.

Aiden longed to bring him back. He wanted to reach into his body and tear the cancer directly out of him. He’d fling the vile formation out onto the floor and stamp on it repeatedly until it was nothing but a pile of harmless ooze.

“How about five across?” Aiden used the pen he was holding to point at the relevant part of the puzzle.

“I bet you know that one.”

Edmond was silent, his head lowered to his chest.

“The treatment can be really tiring for most patients,” the curvy nurse whispered sympathetically as she came over and checked the monitor attached to Edmond’s IV.

“I sort of expected that I’d need to keep him entertained,” Aiden admitted. When he glanced round the room he saw that those patients who weren’t alone were accompanied by someone who had come prepared. As their loved one rested, hooked up to their drip, they buried their head in a book. It seemed that most people were just eager to get away from the brutal reality of the treatment room.