Zach looked at his mother, more frightened than she had ever seen him.
‘I’m so very sorry, but Michelle is dead.’
Zach gasped and violently jerked backwards as if he’d been struck. Elizabeth had to put her other arm around him to steady his body. He collapsed against her. She could feel his hot tears on her neck, his howls soaking into her padded jacket.
Dr Rice stood awkwardly beside them.
‘It’s a great deal to take in. Again, the family room is at your disposal if you’d prefer.’
Elizabeth just wished he would leave them.
‘If you’ve any questions, anything at all, here’s my card. Please feel free to call me.’ He paused before repeating, ‘I’m so sorry’， and then moved away.
‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Elizabeth mumbled, taking the business card with one hand while rubbing the other up and down her son’s back, trying to comfort him. As if anything could bring him comfort. This wasn’t right. This boy wasn’t built for this sort of pain. Elizabeth was suddenly filled with a terrible rage. What was wrong with the world? Why? Why would the gods conspire to test her child in this way?
Over Zach’s shoulder, Elizabeth could see her grandson struggling inside his tightly wrapped blanket. His face was even redder than before. It was as if that tiny human shared her anger. The two of them bonded by a fury at the world. She knew what she had to do.
2
Memories don’t just vanish, they hide. Like a tiny boat trapped in heavy seas trying to catch sight of the shore, sometimes glimpses of the past appear. But some days the wind drops, the clouds part and there is a clear uninterrupted view of land.
In Abbey Court Care home, Edward lay in his bed just before the dawn and everything was revealed to him. The barren vista of his life. He tried to sort through his memories, searching for the happier ones; a summer’s evening bringing in the cows, frying up a pan of mackerel for breakfast, Mary on their wedding day, but it was useless. He had no choice. Only one dark day kept looming into view.
He was at the kitchen counter doing it the way he had seen his mother doing it for Patricia. Grinding the tablets with the back of a spoon, and putting them in the teapot. They were the pills the doctor had prescribed for his mother after James had died, but she had stopped taking them years before. Patricia had only ever had one or two, but he needed to be sure, so he crushed six of them.
‘You’re making tea?’ It was his mother coming into the kitchen.
‘I fancied a cup. Is that all right?’
‘Don’t let me stop you. This is a rare treat, getting waited on.’
The kettle was boiling so Edward filled the pot, and put a mug for himself and a cup and saucer for his mother on the table.
‘What about madam upstairs?’
‘I’ll ask her in a bit.’
He let it brew for a few minutes and then poured.
He picked up his mug and blew on it but didn’t drink. He tried to watch his mother surreptitiously. She was slurping loudly.
He remembered they had spoken then, but couldn’t recall the words. What had they talked about? Strange that of all their conversations, that one wasn’t etched on his memory.
He did know that his mother had yawned and said, ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I can’t keep my eyes open.’
Had there been a moment? Had his mother guessed what he had done? Was there a look? He hoped there hadn’t been. He prayed that she had never known.
Her head had fallen forward against her chest and her body had slipped down in the chair. Edward had waited then for a few more minutes, before tapping her on the arm. Nothing. ‘Mammy?’ His mother remained slumped and unresponsive.
He went to the back door and pulled on his jacket and scarf. Outside the light was fading. He hurried across the yard and got the wheelbarrow from outside one of the outhouses. He wheeled it as quickly as he could to the back door. He didn’t know how much time he had.
Back inside he gathered his mother up in his arms and carried her outside and placed her as gently as he could into the wheelbarrow. It had started to rain. He pushed his load along the side of the house into the lane. The rough terrain coupled with speed disturbed Mrs Foley and one arm flopped over the side of the wheelbarrow and scraped along the stone wall. Edward saw blood. He froze, waiting for his mother to react. Her face remained still, her eyes closed, her mouth hanging open. Struggling with the heavy weight of his load, Edward took a sharp left into the orchard. Here it was much slower going, trying to ease the front wheel across the soft ground through the long wet grass. They passed the blackened trunks of the trees he had set alight to provide cover for Patricia’s failed escape. Up ahead a rope lay coiled at the foot of one of the tallest apple trees. Just seeing it lying there like a serpent ready to strike made Edward stop. His breath, heavy from his efforts, floated in clouds before him. Was he doing the right thing? Was this really the only solution? He looked down and observed his mother’s head hanging to one side, the pink of her tongue edging over her bottom lip. Edward began to cry. No. He had to keep going. This was his plan and it was the best way out that he could think of. Not just for Elizabeth and Patricia, but for his mother too.