‘He’s too frail to sit out any more,’ Jolene said crossing to an armchair that had been pulled close to the window. A small table positioned within hands’ reach held a flask, a mug, and an open packet of chocolate digestives. She picked up the book she’d left splayed on the seat and took its place. ‘You don’t need me to help you look for your earring, do you?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. The book must have been good, she buried herself in it and ignored me. And Mr Wallace.
I stepped closer to the bed. He was sitting upright in a nest of pillows. His breathing was shallow and, as I moved closer, I could smell the stink of death that came with every feeble exhale.
To my surprise, he opened his eyes, looked at me and said a very quiet, ‘Hello.’
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you; I was looking for an earring I’d lost.’
‘Okay.’
His lips were dry and scaly. ‘Would you like a drink?’
‘Please.’
I picked up a glass of water and held a straw to his mouth. He sucked on it twice, then pushed it out with the tip of his tongue. ‘Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ I put the glass down and picked up a tub of Vaseline. ‘Your lips look very dry, this will help.’ I used my finger to slick some over his lips. ‘Better?’
‘Much, thank you.’ He gave me a faint smile. ‘I don’t know you, do I?’
‘No, I’m Lissa. I was here once with Carol, helping.’
‘Carol.’ His smile grew. ‘She talks a lot.’
It made me laugh. ‘She does.’ I looked to where Jolene was still buried in her book. ‘Is there anything else I can do for you?’
‘Stay with me a minute?’
There was a chair nearby, I hooked my foot around it, pulled it closer and sat. ‘Of course I will,’ I said, taking one of his cold hands in mine. I didn’t know him, it was only my second time to meet him, and the resemblance that he’d had in his younger years to my father hadn’t carried through to this older man, but he was a man dying alone. As my father had. That alone kept me sitting there for a long time.
Only when his breathing deepened and slowed did I take my hand away and get to my feet. Sunshine was slanting through the window. Jolene held her book up to the light and turned a page. I wanted to go over, rip the book from her hands and hit her across the face with it. Make her suffer for her lack of care.
I didn’t, of course, I couldn’t afford to lose my job.
I wondered if Oonagh knew how close to the end her husband was. She’d be relieved. After all, this was what she was working towards.
I hadn’t cared, but that was before I’d spoken to the man. Now, I wanted more than money, I wanted her to be punished for what she was doing.
32
Jolene remained buried in her book, oblivious to the needs of the man in her care. I’d have to see what I could do about her.
Conscious of the time ticking away, and of the need to be gone before Oonagh Wallace returned, I made a half-hearted attempt to look for the earring I said I’d lost. I moved the hoist and peered into corners. My forehead was concertinaed to show concern on the off-chance Jolene might drag her eyes from her book and look my way.
She finally looked up as I lifted a chair and dropped it noisily. Her confused expression took seconds to clear, then she laughed. ‘Shit, this book is so good I’d forgotten you were here. Did you find what you were looking for?’
I raised and lowered my shoulders, letting out a loud huff as I did so in a dramatic indication of failure. ‘No such luck,’ I added, in case my amateur theatricals were lost on her. She didn’t strike me as too bright. I lifted my hands and tilted my head towards the bathroom. ‘I’ll go wash my hands then get out of your hair.’
I closed the door over, turned the tap on full, quickly washed my hands and used some tissues I pulled from a box to dry them rather than using a slightly dubious-looking hand towel. I left the water running and took a step towards the bathroom cabinet, pleased to see the key dangling from the lock. I’d had a glimpse inside when I’d been there with Carol, but I wanted to make sure I was right about what I’d found downstairs in that locked room. It took seconds to confirm my suspicions. Mr Wallace’s current medication was stored here. The medication I’d seen downstairs in that locked room was a combination of medication he was no longer prescribed, and older tablets his late wife had been on. All should have been returned to the pharmacy for disposal, but it seemed Mrs Wallace had found a better use for them.
Back in the bedroom, I noticed the dying man hadn’t moved. Neither had Jolene. ‘Right,’ I said drawing her attention. ‘It was a wasted journey, I’m afraid. If you happen to find it sometime when you’re tidying or something,’ – as if the lazy lump would ever stir herself to do anything – ‘you could put it in a safe place, leave a note for Carol and she’ll let me know.’ I flapped a hand in her direction. ‘Don’t bother getting up, I know the way.’ I looked back towards the bed. ‘You wouldn’t want to leave Mr Wallace unattended.’ My sarcasm was wasted on her.
I moved closer to the bed. ‘Goodbye.’ I laid my hand gently against his cheek. ‘It’s okay to let go now, you’ve done your bit.’ Sometimes people clung to the life they believed they had. I could have told him the truth, that his beloved wife had been killing him for some time. I didn’t though: I might discover she had reason, that this man she had married in good faith had proved to be a monster. Perhaps the superficial similarity to my father cut deeper, and Mr Wallace had as big a secret to hide as my father had done.
Perhaps this was why I had become so obsessed with him and his wife.
Mr Wallace didn’t open his eyes or acknowledge my words in any way. Even in the few minutes I’d been there, he’d grown closer to his exit from a life that could be cruelly unfair. I thought back to the cycles of neglect and indulgence that had honed my childhood – maybe life was simply cruel. With a final glance towards Jolene, I left the room.
Outside, I checked the time. Twenty minutes to eleven. In the hallway, I opened and shut the door loudly, much as I had done on my previous visit, although I doubted whether Jolene cared if I left or not, then I turned, slipped through the door and down the stairs.
The key to the locked room was in the same place. A minute later, I was inside. I used my phone to take a few shots of the pestle and mortar and the open packets of pills belonging to both Mr Wallace and his first wife. Photographic proof would be essential for what I’d planned.
Then I was done, the door locked, key returned, and I was running up the stairs. I was at the top when I heard the distinct sound of the front door opening. Panic had me wondering whether to run back down and try to find an alternative exit, or failing that, somewhere to hide. Panic… it was a sure road to failure. A few deep breaths calmed me. Oonagh Wallace was sure to head upstairs to check on her husband. To see how close she was to her destiny.
I opened the door a crack and peered out, shutting it again when I saw her standing at the foot of the stairway checking through her post. No matter how tightly I pressed my ear to the door I couldn’t hear if she moved up the stairway. I waited a full minute before looking out again. This time, the hallway was empty. My exit was feet away. I slipped through the door, closed it gently after me and tiptoed across the hall and got the hell out of there.