CHAPTER 27
The year wore on. The natural decay of Autumn seemed almost to match the natural decay of Gabrielle. Donald spent more and more time with her, becoming increasingly concerned about her. Never strong, she appeared to have lost all energy and lay listlessly in bed, staring out of the window with unfocussed eyes, seeing only with some sort of inner vision. What she saw, she never explained.
A new studying year had begun for Tom. He was kept busy, so busy that he had less time than usual to visit. When he did call, Gabrielle seemed hardly to notice his presence, or if noticing, was often short tempered and snappy, causing him to leave earlier than he might otherwise have done, though not by a single word did he allow her to know the harm she had done. Donald chided her for it one day.
’You’re not being very fair to Tom, Gabby,’ he said. ’Whatever he does is wrong in your eyes. If he fails to come, he is neglecting you. When he does visit, he’s disturbing. I’m sure you don’t want to fight with him but you are going the right way about creating friction.’
’His patience annoys me,’ she said sulkily. ’He’s always so understanding.’
’And so he should be, he is going to be a doctor, after all. But I repeat, you aren’t being fair to him. He deserves better treatment than you’ve been giving him lately. I’ll tell him to stay away for a while, shall I?’
’Tell him what you like,’ said Gabrielle like a spoilt little child.
’As you please,’ said Donald. ’It will probably be a relief to him at any rate. There must be a good selection of nurses he can choose from who may be a little more sunny tempered than you.’
’He can’t do that,’ said Gabrielle wildly, suddenly roused out of her sulkiness. ’He belongs to me. He loves me.’
’ Love includes the ability to let go, Gabrielle. You can’t keep him just to satisfy your own selfish demands, especially when you give him nothing of yourself. He belongs to nobody. You have no claim on him just because you are ill. Don’t come the poor little sick girl approach with me, young lady. It doesn’t work.’
He turned and left the room abruptly, closing the door firmly behind him, leaving her wide eyed and slightly shaken. She lay for a long time, pondering on her father’s unaccustomed burst of temper, then reached out for a notebook and her favourite gold pen. Slowly, she began to write.
My Darling Tom,
I want to apologise for being so rude to you just lately. I’ve felt very frustrated and depressed and taken it all out on you. I know I hurt you with some of the things I said and it gave me pleasure to see the hurt look in your face when I said them. It was very wrong of me and I’m sorry. Dad has explained a few things to me and he’s right, as usual. Indeed, he threatened to stop you coming, as a punishment. No, not even that. It seemed to be what I wanted, so he took me at my word. It isn’t true, however. Please don’t stop calling round. Your visits are the high point of my week and if you weren’t here, my life would be poor indeed.
Of course, I’ll soon have to say goodbye to you for ever but the thought that I have been the cause of sending you away before that is unbearable. I love you, Tom. I’ll love you to the end of life itself. I know that’s the conventional claim to make amongst young lovers but in my case you can be certain it’s true. I’m sorry to say it won’t be for a long time but of course you know that already. That sounds self pitying. I’m sorry again. Stay with me, Tom. Help me to love you as you love me, without selfishness or claim.
At the end, remember me as I would like to have been, as I tried to be. You never said it directly but I know you would have been ready to marry me if it had been possible. If it helps at all, my answer would have been yes, a yes without qualifications or conditions. Well, it isn’t possible, so we have to settle for something rather less than we might have wanted. The pity of it is that we never even did anything naughty, as young couples seem almost obliged to do. I’m sorry for that too. It doesn’t seem natural somehow, even though you’ve actually seen more of me than most unmarried women normally display. (Married women too, for all I know).
Your loving Gabrielle
Gabrielle read over what she had written, nodding her head in satisfaction before placing the letter inside an envelope, sealing it and writing Tom’s name on the front. She reached out her hand for the buzzer and pressed it, then leaned back on the pillows and waited. The door opened and Donald came in.
’Sorry for my bad temper, dad,’ said Gabrielle. ’It was just a bout of self pity, that’s all. I’m better now.’
’That’s alright, my love,’ said Donald, crossing to the bed, sitting on the edge and putting his arms around the girl. ’If you can’t use me as a punching bag for your worst emotions, who can you use? Is there something you’re wanting?’
’Yes please. Would you give this letter to Tom? I’d like him to read it before he sees me next time. It’s in the way of being an apology. Poor Tom, he deserves it. I’ve been rather nasty to him recently.’
Donald smiled but made no comment on the matter. He took the letter and placed it in his pocket.
’There’s another thing, dad. I’ll be running out of writing paper soon. Can you get me some more, please? I want to write a few letters. Actually I want to write to everyone I can think of while I still have the strength and will to do it. You won’t get one but I can tell you how much I love my favourite punching bag at any time. There’ll be one for Natalie as well. Of course, we’re writing to each other now already but this will be a special letter. There’ll be no need to post it, because she can read it when she comes at Christmas. You’ll make sure she gets it, won’t you, whatever happens?’
’That’s a promise, Gabby,’ said Donald with a tightening in his throat that made speech difficult.
Gabrielle caught the strained sound and smiled up at him. ’Don’t worry, dad. Dying is the last thing I intend to do.’
Donald smiled back. ’That’s more like it,’ he said.
’To change the subject,’ said Gabrielle, ’what’s the weather like today?’
Donald looked startled at the unexpected question. ’The weather? Well, it’s not bad. The sun’s shining, there’s a bit of wind, but it’s warm enough considering it’s late Autumn. Why?’
’I think I’d like to go outside for a bit and get some fresh air, feel the wind around my legs and on my face. I haven’t done that for ages. I can consider what sort of letters I’m going to write.’
’No, there’s no need for clothes,’ she said, as Donald started searching through the wardrobe. ’I won’t bother getting dressed. A coat and a blanket will be enough.’
’Are you sure?’ asked Donald doubtfully. ’It may not be that warm.’
’Quite sure. I don’t suppose I’ll be out there for very long.’
Donald wrapped her in a coat, lifted her and carried her downstairs, settling her in the wheelchair and pushed her through the French windows into the garden. He draped a blanket across her knees and turned the chair to face the sun.
’You can leave me now dad. Oh, if you bring the bell out and put it on the table, I’ll give you a ring when I’m ready to come in. For the moment, I’d like to be on my own. There’s a lot I want to think about.’
After leaving the bell, Donald ruffled her hair fondly and left her.
Gabrielle closed her eyes and lifted her head to the sun, enjoying the weak warmth that emanated from it. She stayed transfixed in that position for several minutes before moving, thoughts racing through her mind. Satisfied, she opened her eyes again and looked around. No-one in sight. Not that there should be, as the garden was really secluded. She was invisible even from the house. Something atavistic stirred deep within her. Slowly, she unwrapped the blanket and let it slip away from her legs, revelling in the sensation of cool air against her skin. On impulse, she unfastened her coat and pushed it back from her shoulders and clear from her arms, then lifted her nightdress to the top of her thighs, and opened the neck as much as was possible. The light breeze played delicately along her uncovered flesh, arousing impulses of rare pleasure from deep within. She looked with pity at the thin, slightly twisted limbs of her lower body, smoothing them out ineffectually with her hands, and shook her head sadly. If only Tom was there to massage her legs for her.
Eyelids drooped and suddenly Tom was there, kneeling on the turf before her, gazing at her with affection and something more than affection, gazing at her bare limbs with longing in his eyes. Hands reached out and stroked delicately along her legs, from ankles to knees and beyond, causing her to stiffen and tense in eager anticipation. The same hands lifted her gently from the chair and supported her with the strength of deep and abiding love. Without effort, they were walking across the garden, slippered feet leaving light impressions in the newly mown grass, then they were running, running, running, until he brought her to a halt, and kissed her with passion, bending her over backwards as he did so, hands caressing the full length of her body over and over again. There was a crick of pain in her back and she moaned breathlessly, slumping down hard. Eyelids raised, she looked around with a sense of bitter loss to see the garden and the chair as it had been before she slipped into the fantasy world of her deepest subconscious. She shivered, feeling suddenly chilled. Goose pimples appeared on her arms. With reluctance, she adjusted her nightdress, gathered the coat around her and wrapped the blanket across her legs once more. She smiled in remembrance. If only Tom would come soon. He would get another letter, she decided, one he could treasure for the rest of his life. Shivering again, her hand reached out and lifted the bell.
That night Gabrielle cried with pain as she had never cried before. A deeply worried Donald sat up with her all night, soothing her with words, holding her trembling, wasted body, but to no avail. The doctor called during the course of the morning and examined Gabrielle, shaking his head sadly.
’I’m sorry, Donald. There’s not a great deal I can do, not a great deal anyone can do, except make her comfortable but that tells you nothing you didn’t know already. The pain will likely get worse from now on. I’ll give you a prescription for something a bit more powerful. She can have one more or less as she needs.’
’You mean the end is coming.’ It wasn’t a question.
’Not today. Not for some time.’
’But soon.’
Donald, we’ve been friends for a long time now. I’ve never lied to you and I won’t lie to you now. I can’t give you an exact date, nobody can but it’s clear she won’t last the year out, not unless you believe in miracles and probably not even then.’
Donald shrugged helplessly. ’As you said, you’re telling me nothing I didn’t know already.’
The doctor looked at his friend with concern. ’What about yourself? This is wearing you out. Can you not get a bit of help? You can afford it, surely?’
Donald sighed. ’The money’s not a problem, John. No, it’s not that. I’ve had this for so long I’d rather like to see it through to the end. It won’t be for much longer. A few weeks, would you say?’
The doctor nodded. ’As far as anyone can be sure about that, yes.’
’I’ll take a rest then. A good long one. I’ve got friends. They’ll help out. Don’t worry about me.’
Gabrielle recovered slowly but was clearly much weaker. She wrote her letters, each one taking several days to complete, as the act of writing tired her beyond all belief. Tom came to see her as often as he could. Nothing much was said during their time together, nothing much was needed but they drew ever closer in mind and spirit. Sometimes he sat with a contented looking Gabrielle on his knee, one arm around her slight shoulders, a hand sometimes resting lightly on her thinly clad thigh, sometimes beneath the material itself. If Donald saw this scene at all, he found another room to retire to and wisely kept his own counsel. Young love, he considered, was entitled to its own satisfaction, a satisfaction which was harmless enough in all conscience.
Christmas was well on its way. The shops had been full of seasonal cheer for weeks already. Gabrielle was too ill to go out as she had been accustomed to, but gave a long list to Donald of presents to buy and a rather shorter one to Tom. It was decided for various reasons, not actually mentioned but clearly understood, to exchange presents early. There was a set of books for Tom, not all medical texts, more books for Donald, along with a handsome writing desk, the top of which opened out to make a sizeable work surface. It was supported by four slender legs which Gabrielle joked about, wishing she had legs of the same shape and proportions, though preferably fewer in number. For Gabrielle, there were a number of mysterious looking parcels, containing such diverse items as jewellery, books and video films. She unwrapped with cries of delight a short outdoor jacket with a matching hat, rather saucy in appearance. If there were thoughts that the coat would never be worn, the books never read, the films never watched, they were thoughts that remained unexpressed.
More presents there were, these put to one side for Natalie pending her arrival. One was the subject of much discussion between Donald and Gabrielle, a discussion which left him in complete agreement with his daughter’s wishes but which made him wonder about the topics of conversation between the two women during Natalie’s earlier stay.
Donald snatched sleep as and when he was able during the days leading up to the holidays. Many of his waking hours were spent in simply watching over a still and silent figure. Gabrielle slept much and awoke for increasingly shorter periods of time, often in a daze, unsure of what she was saying or even to whom she was talking.
A night came. A night much like any other night. It drew out long, yet without tedium. Donald was dozing in an armchair beside Gabrielle’s bed when morning came, although only the clock indicated the fact, it being as dark as midnight. A low sound roused him from his fitful sleep. His eyes jerked open and he looked at the bed. Gabrielle was smiling at him lucidly.
’Hello, my love,’ he said. ’How do you feel?’
Her smile broadened. ’All right. What time is it?’
It was a question she rarely found the need to ask. With a sense of foreboding, Donald told her.
’Twenty past seven. It’s morning.’
’Twenty past seven,’ she repeated. ’Twenty past seven and all’s well.’
She gave a sudden sigh.
’There’s no pain, dad, none at all. It’s the first time I’ve been free of it for... well, I can’t remember just how long. Do you think it means something?’
’I don’t know, Gabby.’ He bit his lip hard.
’Of course. I know. Silly of me, I should have realised. I can hear that sound again, like fluttering wings, only I can’t feel my heartbeat this time. Is it beating still?’
Donald placed his hand on her chest.
’Yes, it’s still there. Rather faint, but it’s still working.’
’Not for much longer dad,’ she gave a nervous laugh. ’Today’s the day. I’m going to leave you behind. We’ve always gone everywhere together but now I’ll have to go on my own, where you can’t follow. Hold me dad, hold me close. I’m not frightened, but don’t let me slip away without feeling you near me.’
’Would you like Tom to come?’ asked Donald, kneeling on the floor and wrapping his arms gently around her pitifully thin body.
Gabrielle considered. ’No, I don’t think so. I don’t want to distress him. Besides, he’s visiting his parents and it would take him at least a couple of hours to get here. He wouldn’t be on time.’ She smiled. ’I’m lucky, really. Not everyone is aware of the time of their death, but I can see mine coming.’
She fell silent. The clock ticked away, measuring off with a finality that would not be denied. She began to speak again, in low tones, reminiscing of past times, of people they had known. She spoke of her mother, of Natalie, of Tom. She spoke of her wishes regarding Donald’s future, knowing it was futile, that he would act in any way he saw best. Gradually her voice sank to a whisper, becoming incoherent. Disjointed phrases and individual words struggled for expression, with long pauses in between. The pauses became longer and longer, until there was nothing left but the silence. She breathed awkwardly and shallowly, then that too ceased. Donald could not have said to within half an hour precisely when life left her. He held on tightly, feeling her body cooling but not relinquishing his hold. He was aware, yet not aware, of strong arms pulling him away then all went blank in his mind.