White Silence Page 4

  The rest of the evening passed without excitement. Almost as if he were aware of my anxiety, Ted never left me again. We moved from group to group. People were friendly. The food and drink was good. I enjoyed myself more than I thought I would. On the few occasions I encountered him, Dr Sorensen was charming. His colour kept its distance. I had no alarms of any kind.

  On the way home I stared out of the window at the dark shadows flashing past and wondered if I’d allowed my imagination to get the better of me.

  Chapter Three

  It was a day like any other, except that Ted came home looking cross and tired. That wasn’t like him at all, so I served him his dinner on a tray in front of the TV, and went to run him a bath. I was sloshing the water around when I heard the telephone ring, and when I went downstairs, he was pulling on his coat and picking up his car keys.

  ‘Sorry, love, I have to go back.’

  ‘Must you? It’s so late.’

  ‘Only for an hour or so. Don’t wait up.’

  ‘Are you sure? I can do you some sandwiches.’

  ‘No. I won’t be long, I promise, but you go on to bed. I’ll try not to wake you when I come in.’

  He opened the front door, dropped a kiss on my head and pulled it to behind him.

  I never saw him alive again.

  There was no clue. No warning of any kind. I spent days afterwards, running over those final moments together, looking for some sort of sign, but there was nothing. I heard the car drive away and then he was gone.

  I had a bath myself and decided on an early night. I read for a while, expecting to hear his key in the lock at any moment. Eventually, I switched off the light, turned over, and fell asleep.

  * * *

  I awoke suddenly. The room was cold and dark. A half-moon shone through the window. I knew I was alone. I reached out an arm to switch on the light and the pain in my chest nearly paralysed me. I curled into a ball, fists clenched. I couldn’t catch my breath. The moon swam like a pendulum. I felt an overwhelming sense of fear. Of mortality. Because I was dying. I knew I was dying. I was alone and afraid and I was dying. I tried to call out, forgetting Ted wasn’t here. I tried to call his name and then, suddenly, I realised it wasn’t Ted’s name I was calling – it was my own. I was alone, in the dark, in my car at the side of the road, afraid, in pain, and using my last moments to call for my wife. In that moment, I knew how much Ted had loved me. And how much I loved him.

  And then, suddenly – it was gone. The pain. The fear. The moon. Everything, and I was alone in the cold emptiness of death.

  And then I was back in my bed again.

  I fumbled so badly I knocked the lamp of the bedside table and had to get up, on legs that would barely hold me, to switch on the overhead light. Around me, everything was exactly as it had been when I went to bed.

  Except that Ted was dead. I knew, as certainly as if I’d been there myself – which in a way I had been – that Ted was dead. Kind, gentle, patient, unspectacular, dear, sweet Ted. I curled up on the pillows and pulled the covers up around me, and let the tidal wave of emotions wash over me. Not just grief, but disbelief, anger, and, underpinning everything, fear. Fear that began as the faintest flicker and grew to an overwhelming flame.

  I sat in the dark and waited for them. I thought it would either be the police doing some sort of official notification, or perhaps one or two of Ted’s colleagues from the clinic, subdued and sad, but it was Dr Sorensen himself who pulled up in his car, just as dawn was breaking.

  I wished I could get dressed, but it struck me that being awake, dressed, and already aware of what had happened would not be a wise move. I had to be seen to be normal, but it was hard. There was so much going on in my head. All I wanted to do was curl into a ball and think of Ted, and now I had to deal with Sorensen instead. The occasional tear trickled down my cheek. I brushed it away. There would be time for tears later. All the time in the world, in fact, as I faced the rest of my life without Ted, but now, at this moment, I couldn’t afford to be a grieving widow. I had to be the woken at dawn, slightly confused, still sleepy little housewife, wondering what was going on.

  He had brought someone with him. I could just make out two blurry shapes through the glass as I went to open the front door. The porch light had come on automatically, but I didn’t switch on the hall light behind me. They were illuminated and I was in shadow.

  I clutched my dressing gown in a timid gesture that wasn’t entirely assumed.

  ‘Dr Sorensen?’

  ‘Mrs Cage, I’m so sorry to call at this hour …’

  ‘Where’s Ted? Oh my God, has there been an accident? Is he all right?’ My voice was rising in panic. I’m not an actress. I knew what he was here to tell me and the urge to give way and burst into tears was becoming overwhelming.

  He said quietly, ‘May we come in?’

  ‘Of course.’ I stepped back to let them in, gesturing them into the sitting room. I still didn’t put the lights on, but I did draw back the curtains so that a dim grey light filtered sullenly through the windows. I couldn’t see his face very clearly, but he wouldn’t be able to see mine, either.

  He sat. I didn’t, standing with my back to the window. ‘What’s happened? Why are you here?’

  He did it very well. If I hadn’t see his nasty, dirty colour reaching hungrily towards me, then I would have found comfort and support from his words.

  ‘Mrs Cage, please believe me when I say how sorry I am to have to break this news to you. As you know, your husband was called in for a few hours yesterday evening. Nothing major, but we both know what a conscientious man he was.’

  I said, ‘Was?’ Because I was sure that with this man, everything was a trap. And I was angry because Ted was dead and all I wanted to do was think about him and instead, I had to confront this man and lie and conceal the truth. I wished he would just go away and leave me. It occurred to me, suddenly, that with Ted gone, there was no one to protect me from this man. This … monster.

  With that thought, however, came a new strength. Ted was gone, but I could think about him later. Right now, there were other priorities. He would have understood. My eye fell on the framed photograph of the two of us, taken last year when we visited London. We were at the Tower of London, posed against an ancient stone wall. Ted had his arm around me. Our heads were close together. We were both smiling. It had been such a happy day. Looking at the photo now, I felt a small warmth inside. I lifted my head and prepared to get Dr Sorensen out of my house as quickly as possible.

  ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news. A few minutes after he left us, your husband suffered a heart attack. He was able to pull in to the side of the road, but it came on so suddenly, he was unable to telephone for help. I’m sorry to say he died almost immediately. He was discovered an hour or so later by a member of staff coming in early for the midnight shift. I don’t know if this helps at all, Mrs Cage, but even had the attack happened while he was at the clinic, I don’t think the outcome would have been any different. I tell you this so you don’t torture yourself by wondering if he might have survived had he still been on the premises. The answer is no, I don’t think he would.’

  I could say it at last. ‘Ted is dead?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, yes. I cannot say how distressed I am. We all are. Your husband was highly regarded by everyone at the clinic. He was popular and respected. In short, Mrs Cage, Ted was a good man. He will be sadly missed.’

  I bowed my head and let the tears fall at last.

  ‘Please,’ he said gently, ‘won’t you sit down? This is Dr Lewis, whom I don’t think you have met before.’

  She had a faint, soft Irish accent and her colour was a lovely soft jade, shot through with flecks of red because she was anxious. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Mrs Cage? No, don’t you bother yourself. I’ll make it.’

  She disappeared into the kitchen and I sat down, choosing an armchair so he couldn’t sit close to me. I was vulnerable and alone and instead of the luxury
of giving way, I had to deal with a man I sensed would take every advantage of my weakness. I think I hated him more in that moment than I ever had before. All I wanted to do was nurse my grief and think of Ted.

  I could hear the sounds of cupboards opening and closing in the kitchen. All the tea stuff was out on the worktop. Apart from the milk in the fridge, there was no need for her to go opening cupboards. She was snooping. I had no idea what she could possibly be looking for, but she wasn’t going to find anything in the kitchen, so I closed my mind to it and focused on Dr Sorensen instead.

  ‘Mrs Cage, this will be a very difficult time for you. I know it’s customary in these circumstances to say, “If there’s anything I can do to help …” Well, I would like to help if I may. I can certainly offer practical assistance and take some of the load off your shoulders at this sad time.’

  I wondered if he knew how practiced this sounded and then pushed the thought from my mind because I needed to concentrate.

  ‘The first thing …’ he paused delicately. ‘Are you all right for money? I know you don’t work …’ He paused again, because these days, if you’re a woman and you don’t work then there must be something wrong with you. Fifty years ago, no women worked. Now all women work. Except me, apparently.

  I shook my head. We had joint bank accounts. I had the money from the sale of my house. Ted’s ‘rainy day’ appeared to have arrived more quickly than we had anticipated.

  ‘The second thing …’ Looking around he said, ‘I can see you have a lovely home here, Mrs Cage, but sometimes, people find it almost too painful to continue in a place they’ve shared with a loved one. Should you feel this way I shall be more than happy to take you into my clinic for a few days, until you feel more able to cope. As our guest, of course.’

  And take the opportunity to have a good look around the house in my absence. I wondered again what he was looking for. We both knew Ted never brought work home so did he think I would have some sort of a private journal, or a written confession, perhaps – as if I’d be stupid enough to write down my private thoughts, or commit secrets to paper.

  He was wasting his time anyway. There was no way I would leave Ted’s house empty for him to rummage through. There was nothing, absolutely nothing here that could possibly interest him in any way, but just the thought of him – or more likely a member of Ted’s security staff – pawing away at our private possessions, rummaging through our memories …

  I shook my head. ‘Thank you, but I prefer to remain here.’

  He took it very well. If he was disappointed, it didn’t show. ‘As you wish. However, there is one thing I can do to help at this sad time. Ted belonged to our pension scheme, as you probably know. I can handle all those formalities for you and, if you will permit me, I will organise the funeral as well. I do know that neither of you have family members, but there are many at the clinic who will wish to pay their last respects. Would you allow me to offer Sorensen House as a venue for after the funeral? I think it would take a great weight off your shoulders and we can convey you home afterwards.’

  I considered this offer. He would certainly take advantage of my absence at the funeral to send his people in. It was beginning to dawn on me that there really wasn’t much I could do about that. Go with the flow, as my dad would have said.

  I nodded. ‘Thank you.’ I straightened my back. ‘You will, of course, send all the bills to me.’

  ‘There is no need,’ he said calmly. ‘Ted subscribed to our scheme. The costs will all be covered.’

  That was news to me, but should I argue? The sun was coming up – or rather, the room was less grey, and what I could see of his face was sympathetic and concerned. Even his colour seemed restrained, rippling quietly around him like greasy milk. There were none of the flares I’d seen from him the first time we’d met.

  ‘Thank you. I accept your offer.’

  Dr Lewis came back in with the tea on a tray she’d apparently had to open every door in the kitchen to locate. She poured me a cup and passed it over. I looked down at the steaming liquid. To anyone else it would have looked perfectly normal, but it was bad. I could see it. The colour was wrong. I could see swirling dark streaks of whatever she had put in it. Were they trying to drug me? Would I wake up in Sorensen’s clinic? A quick and easy solution for him. On the other hand, it might only be a sedative. Are doctors allowed to drug people without their knowledge? I was certain this one was.

  They were both looking at me. On the surface, it was just a cup of tea. The sort of thing anyone with a kind heart would offer a grieving widow. How could I not drink it without giving myself away? I was strongly tempted to say, ‘I’m not drinking this – it’s drugged,’ just to see what would happen. Old habits die hard, however. My dad would always say, ‘Softly, softly, catchee monkey.’

  I smiled politely, took the tea, set it down beside me and let the silence gather.

  ‘Don’t forget your tea,’ she said, and the red flecks deepened. I wondered how much trouble she would be in if I didn’t drink it.

  ‘I won’t,’ I said.

  Silence fell again. They watched me. I would have to be more positive.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone now.’

  There was a brief pause, and then he rose to his feet. ‘Of course you would, Mrs Cage.’ He pulled out his wallet and took out a card. ‘I’m sure you already have the clinic’s number, but here’s my private line. Call me at any time.’

  I took it. ‘Thank you.’

  He began to move towards the door. I followed hard on his heels because I couldn’t hold on much longer.

  ‘And I’ll be in touch about the funeral.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Just go. For God’s sake, go.

  He made one last effort. ‘I don’t suppose – do you know – did Ted ever bring anything home? Might there be some files or keys …?’

  Once again, his colour reached out to me.

  I shook my head. ‘Never. As you know, he was very particular about keeping his work life separate.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking.’

  ‘No.’

  Another brief silence. Neither of them looked at the tea. They really were very good.

  I moved to the front door and they followed me. Yes, I wanted them out of my home, but that was a perfectly normal reaction under the circumstances. I didn’t bother being polite. I opened the door and stood waiting, clutching at my dressing gown so neither of them could shake hands.

  They filed out. I practically shut the door on their heels. Returning to the living room, I watched them drive away.

  Then I went into the kitchen and tipped the tea down the sink.

  Chapter Four

  The service was at St Stephen’s in Rushford. Most of the people attending it were from the clinic. I remember being surprised there was no one from the police force there, but not taking the thought any further. I was too busy saying nothing.

  Dr Sorensen escorted me through the funeral and afterwards. Having him so close set my teeth on edge, but I have to say, his behaviour was impeccable. He touched me only once when we were walking along the side of the road and he took my elbow to draw me aside as a van went past. My arm did not drop off with the contact.

  Back at Sorensen House they’d opened up one of the smaller rooms leading off the hall. I sat in an armchair as various people filed past to pay their respects. Most showed genuine regret – one or two of the nurses were quite tearful – and I was grateful. I had been married to a wonderful man and I had no idea how I was going to live without him.

  After about half an hour, people began to drift away and I think that was the worst moment. That was the moment when I realised how truly alone I was, sitting in my armchair watching other people leaving me to get on with their own lives. Life does indeed go on. Just not for Ted.

  I became aware someone was watching me. Looking across the room, I could see Michael Jones, clutching a teacup
just for once, staring at me. On the outside, he was smartly dressed in a dark blue jacket and black tie. His hair, longer than when I last saw him, was neatly combed. On the inside, however, he was falling apart. His whole colour had darkened. The swirling gold and red had almost completely disappeared, overwhelmed by the dark patch over his heart which had grown larger and was spreading tentacles everywhere, contaminating everything it touched.

  Not looking at me, he walked across the room, depositing his teacup on a nearby table. As he straightened up, still without looking at me, he said quietly, ‘Leave. Just walk out now. Don’t look back.’ Then someone stepped between us and when they’d gone, he had disappeared.

  There had been something in his voice …

  I got up to go and Dr Lewis was there immediately.

  ‘I can call your car whenever you need it, Mrs Cage, but before you go, Dr Sorensen has a few papers for you to sign. He’s in his office.’

  It occurred to me afterwards that sending Dr Lewis was a stroke of genius on his part. I studied her colour, now back to normal – a pretty jade with flecks of turquoise. She showed no signs of her former anxiety. She gave her message in all good faith. I followed her to Dr Sorensen’s office.

  It was the first time I’d ever been in here. Everything was quietly expensive – from the Turkish carpet on the gleaming floor to the very good art on the walls. His desk was huge and highly polished. The blotter and his pens were precisely lined up. He sat with his back to the window, his face in shadow.

  ‘Ah, Mrs Cage, do come in and sit down. I have some documents here for signature, if you feel up to it.’

  It was very quiet in his room. I remember only the paper crackling as I took the papers and the occasional tick of his radiator.