Authors: NC Marshall
I
awake in a darkened room, unsure of where I am. I quickly take in my
surroundings, studying the bedroom carefully. The heavy rain has not subsided
and it lashes angrily at the bedroom window. Shadows from the branches of the
trees outside sway in the forceful wind, creating sharp-edged patterns against
the bedroom wall. I am hot, sweltering, and my brow and back are both damp. My
hair is stuck to the back of my neck, my mouth is dry, and my lips feel chapped
and flaky. I put a hand to my forehead where beads of sweat have gathered
across my hairline and wipe at it.
I’m so fed up with this.
Dan
is sleeping soundly next to me. I can hear him breathing, and vaguely make out his
silhouette in the dark room, his chest rising and falling in a slow, hypnotic
rhythm. His arm is slung heavily across my stomach, and his legs entwine with
mine as if trying to hold me down, to protect me. Usually, during these dreams,
I thrash around. I’m glad Dan’s here tonight, his presence helps me to remember
where I am,
who
I am.
I
slowly get up, gently untangling my body from Dan’s grip and quietly leave the
room, to head downstairs. While on my way to the kitchen I try desperately to
shake off the images that I can still see flashing through my mind. It’s been
almost a year since Jess’s death, yet still, even now, the dream feels as vivid
and real as ever.
It
started on the night before Jess’s funeral. I had been to see her body that
day. I’d felt that it was something I had to do, that somehow seeing her would
make things seem realer, make me understand that my sister was truly never
coming back.
Jess’s
coffin was laid out in a room at the funeral parlor. Mum had chosen one of the
top of the range caskets, and in my opinion, had also gone massively overboard
with the flower arrangements and the wake, too. I knew that all she wanted was
to send off her daughter in style. But I couldn’t help thinking Jess would have
been angry that Mum had wasted so much money on such an unnecessary and
flamboyant display. She had never been one for extravagance in any way, shape
or form.
We
were told that the fall had caused internal injuries, but a fatal blow to the
back of Jess’s head, sustained from the impact of the rocks she had landed on,
is what had actually killed her. We were assured that her death would have been
instant, which in some morbid way was a blessing to us. Knowing that she hadn’t
suffered came as a sort of comfort.
I
had been nervous about visiting her and didn’t know what to expect, given the
nature of how she died, but when I saw her the injuries didn’t even look like
they existed. I knew that this was mainly due to the fact they were cleverly
hidden from our view. She looked like she was asleep, as if I could just reach
out and shake her until she woke, like I used to do every morning when she was
little, when it was time to get up and get ready for school. I’d lean over her
and whisper quietly in her ear, so I didn’t startle her.
Wakey, Wakey sleepy
head!
Jess loved her sleep and had been a nightmare to wake up in the
mornings. She was much more of a night owl than a morning person, and had been
all of her life.
She
was dressed in a navy blue pinstriped trouser suit which Mum had picked out for
her to wear; it looked brand new. I had never seen Jess in a suit before and
she looked a little odd wearing it. She was more of a jeans and trainers type
of girl, or maybe a loose fitting dress and flip flops during the summer
months. The outfit made her look too serious, older somehow. I wished I had
gone with Mum to the apartment to help her and Matt pick out something for her
to wear. It just wasn’t Jess’s style.
I
don’t even know why she would have had that suit in her wardrobe in the first
place, other than maybe for an important meeting she had to attend when she
worked. Even then, her day to day attire was normally quite informal. I would
have picked out an entirely different outfit; maybe that peach chiffon blouse
that she liked so much. Her favourite pair of black skinny jeans, teamed with
the Christian Louboutin stilettos, which she managed to blag from the wardrobe
department at the magazine she had worked for. Jess’s powers of persuasion had
been incredible. She had the capability to wrap anyone around her little finger
without them even knowing it.
Her
long blonde hair lay loose, hanging down past her shoulders as she had
regularly worn it, but it didn’t have the same golden sheen that it always used
to. Her skin was a horrible shade of white, pale and ashen, almost transparent.
I remember holding my finger to her cheek, it was cold, and her skin was dry.
She had way too much eye makeup on too, Jess would never wear that much makeup.
She could always get away with a simple dab of blusher and a lick of nude
coloured lipgloss. Maybe a little mascara if she was going out. Her natural
beauty had never required it.
My
hand lingered on her cheek for a few minutes, before Dan put his hand on my
shoulder and led me out of the room. Silently knowing that it was time to
leave, I nodded. I took his hand and followed him, taking one final glance over
my shoulder before I left. I broke down once I was outside. I fell to my knees
on the pavement and cried for the first time since learning of her death. It’s almost
as though my head had suddenly communicated a withheld message to my heart,
which had instantly split it in two. That's the last time I would see her.
Everything felt so final at that point and it was too much to handle.
The
funeral the next day was beautiful. It affirmed to us all how popular and loved
my sister had been. It was such a rough day, I sometimes wonder how the family
had managed to muster up the strength to stick through. It’s amazing where the
bravery comes from when a tragedy you never imagined happening strikes as it
did. Matt had been so strong. He had lost not only his wife, but his best
friend. He was a rock for all of us throughout the whole day, putting his own
grief to the side to ensure we were all coping.
The
service was held in a small chapel near where we grew up. There were so many
people there. The crowds flooded out of the chapel, continuing right up to the
iron gates at the grounds entrance. Jess had been buried next to our dad’s
grave, who we had lost five years earlier. Both had been awash with beautiful
flowers spilling out over them. I had been hoping that the funeral would bring
me some closure, but when the dreams began that night I knew that closure was
going to be a long way off.
I
make myself a milky mug of hot chocolate and head to the conservatory. The room
looks out through the glass panels of the structure over our large garden,
which tonight looks cold, soggy and uninviting. I crawl onto the sofa, pulling
a fleeced blanket over me, and try again to clear my mind that is still
flashing through cliff top images from my dream. I switch on a small lamp on
the table near me. It quickly illuminates one side of the room, the rest
remains shrouded in darkness. A strong smell lingers in the air. I glance
around and see that it’s coming from the lilies that sit in an attractive
arrangement in a glass vase on the table beside me.
We
have lived in this house for six years now, and I know that I am lucky. Our
house is large, and located in a very sought-after part of town. It sits
entirely in its own grounds, overlooking the rolling hills of the countryside.
However, it’s still merely a half hour drive to the city centre. It’s strange;
I used to love living in the city so much when I was younger but now I couldn’t
conceive of anything worse. I enjoy the peace and quiet here. Although it’s
quite remote, it never feels totally isolated from civilization. I love this
house, and I can’t envisage myself being anywhere else and honestly calling it
home.
A
creak on the wooden floorboards interrupts my thoughts. I look towards the
kitchen where Dan stands beside the large island at its heart, fixing himself a
drink. He quickly appears in the doorway near where I sit. His chest is bare,
he’s wearing only a pair of blue and white striped lounge pants. He yawns,
stretching, then glances at the clock on the wall nearby as he leans against
the door frame and rubs at his eyes in an effort to wake himself up. I silently
pat the space next to me on the sofa, and he sits down.
“You
have the dream again?” he asks in a voice still laced with sleep. I nod back,
drawing my knees towards my chest and gripping them tightly. These late night
talks have become a regular occurrence lately. I feel so guilty that Dan feels
he has to console me every time the dream comes back. He softly rubs at my bare
knee and moves closer.
“The
doctor did say that it might take a while, hun,” he offers. I nod once more, my
eyes filling up with tears.
“I
know,” I whisper.
I
had gone to see Dr Peterson a month after Jess died. The dreams came almost
every night in those days. It was constantly the same dream, over and over,
night after night, entering my rest and boring relentlessly into my mind. I was
both physically and mentally exhausted. I knew that I had no other option than
to seek some sort of professional help.
Douglas
Peterson is a highly recommended councillor who is based at the city clinic and
specialises in issues linked to bereavement. He is a genuine, kind-hearted man
and superb at his job. I did feel better, meeting with him in his office on a
weekly basis, reminiscing over the old times I had with Jess. He was easy to
talk to. I felt as though I could tell him anything at all and he would listen,
without question or judgement.
As
the sessions concluded, it was his opinion that the dreams were linked to the
loss of my sister and the guilt that I felt for her dying. Chances were high
that until I came to terms with the fact there was nothing I could have done to
prevent her death, the dreams would continue. Although their frequency had
reduced somewhat, he was correct in the diagnosis.
“There
was nothing you could have done,” Dan says, squeezing my hands, which are still
clasped firmly around my mug. I look down and notice my knuckles are starting
to turn white, I’m gripping it so hard.
“You
were an incredible sister, Nat. She knew you were always there whenever she
needed you. It was an accident and nothing that you could have done would have
changed what happened.”
I
nod again. He must get fed up repeating the same words to me all of the time.
My mind knows they are right, but I still don’t fully believe them in my heart.
I
am suddenly exhausted again. I lay my head back on the cushion behind my head
and place my still full mug of cold chocolate on the silver coffee table in
front of me. I lift my feet onto the sofa and Dan squeezes in behind me, lying
down parallel with my body and pulling me close. I turn my head, laying it
against his bare chest and pull the blanket over us both, hearing his heart
beat slowly and the warmth of his skin against mine. I feel instantly better.
For the second time that night I close my eyes and quickly drift off to sleep.
This time, thankfully, the dream does not return.
It’s
Saturday morning and I am in high spirits as I strap Josh into the back seat of
the car and head toward my mum’s house. It’s yet another glorious day, and
although fresh and crisp, the sun shines brightly and puts me in a good mood. I
haven’t had the dream since Monday night. I’m hoping that this is the last I
will see of it.
Dan
has a rare full day off work and there is football on the TV all afternoon.
I’ve left him at home, where he is quite happy to be left chilling in front of
the box, no doubt stuffing his face with junk food. He has been working hard
lately and deserves the chance to relax and have some time alone at home for
once. I decide to use the spare time to pop out and visit Mum. It’s been a few
weeks and I know she gets lonely without Dad, even though she doesn’t admit to
it.
As
we set off, Josh talks to himself, playing happily in the back of the car. Once
again the huge stuffed blue dinosaur is in tow—I struggle to separate the two
of them lately. I call my mum on the hands-free as soon as we set off to tell
her I’m on my way. She sounds pleased and instantly tells me that she has
prepared a tasty lunch for when we arrive. I’m sure that woman’s prime task in
life is to feed me up until I burst. She always makes such a fuss when we visit
and wouldn’t have it any other way.
As
I finish my phone call to Mum and hang up, the phone rings again. I press the
button on the steering wheel to answer it, grinning as I see the caller display
and know what is coming.
“Hi
trouble,” I say, as I turn off the busy dual carriageway that I’m on and follow
a much quieter road, heading north towards the lake.
“Hi
Nat,” my brother replies in a very cheery and excited tone of voice. I laugh at
him, knowing full well what he is calling me for, but wanting to hear the news
from him first.
“I’m
taking it the answer was yes, then?” I ask, unable to stand the anticipation.
The
line is still quiet a few seconds later. I grin again, because I know that the
answer was never going to be a ‘no.’
My
younger brother Ryan is twenty-eight and an all-around fantastic guy. With all
of our dad’s characteristics and charm, he is the most honest, generous and
selfless person I know. He looks so much like Dad too, with his slim build,
dark eyes, and handsome boyish features. It melts my heart to look at him. We
have always been close, and Jess’s death has only brought us closer. Today,
he’s called to tell me he has eventually gotten around to proposing to his
girlfriend, Lola.
The
family had all known about the surprise proposal, I even helped him pick out
the ring a month or so ago. He had taken Lola on a short break to Paris, and
yesterday proposed on bended knee, in the middle of a bustling Champs Elysees.
Apparently, they even received an enormous round of applause by passersby who
had realised what he was up to. Trust Ryan to be different and rebel against
the famous tradition of popping the question at the top of the Eiffel Tower.
The pair had returned home on a flight early this morning, but he couldn’t wait
to announce their news and I was the first one he wanted to tell. I can’t be
any happier for them both. I know Jess would have been thrilled, too.
Lola
had been a good friend to Jess. They first met at a wine bar that they both
worked in during their time at university, and they had hit it off immediately.
Lola would later go travelling with Jess, and although Jess came home early due
to our father’s state of health, they remained close friends until her death.
Jess
had adored matchmaking and played cupid to a number of couples over the years.
So, when she arranged a party to welcome Lola home from her travels, it wasn’t
a surprise when she introduced her to Ryan, and they fell in love almost
instantly. Jess was ecstatic when they announced they were officially a couple,
followed by the news a short while after that they had a baby on the way.
“We’re
all going out tonight to celebrate,” says Ryan excitedly, still sounding like
he is on cloud nine. “I’m hoping you and Dan can make it?” I snap back to reality
and don’t hesitate in answering him.
“Of
course,” I reply, “where and when?”
We
arrange to meet at eight o’clock that night. Ryan has booked a table in one of
my favourite Italian restaurants in the city, so I’m looking forward to it. I
call Dan to tell him. He will be away with work next week and taking a flight
to London tomorrow morning, but tells me he will just take it easy with the
beers and will be okay. I hang up and clap my hands together, before setting
them loosely back on the steering wheel and focussing my eyes firmly on the
road ahead. Finally, something to celebrate, exactly what my family needs.
*
I
turn a sharp corner and head closer to the lake. I had lived in this town all
my childhood since birth and yet still, whenever I return, the beauty of the
place takes my breath away.
The
lake spans out as far as the eye can see, shimmering under the bright low
autumn sun. It’s approaching lunchtime now. There are people everywhere as I
drive through the small town centre. I watch them contently as they lap up the
atmosphere produced by the lake, enjoying spending time with family and friends
on such a delightful afternoon. The lake itself is a hive of activity today,
with canoes and pedalos littering its waters. The small village-style shops are
bustling with people peering in the windows, while weekend visitors walk the
old cobbled alleyways, clutching bags from the nearby gift shop and traditional
confectionery.
I
leave the town centre behind and turn down the avenue leading to my mum’s
house. The broad pavements are lined with tall trees on both sides of the road.
The leaves on the trees are thick and starting to show signs in their colouring
that the season is now changing, a hint that winter is fast approaching. Every
so often, the bright sun peeps through the gaps in the shade they provide.
I
pass a few houses before I get to the end of the road. The second to last
house, standing closest to ours, is where Matt used to live growing up. Our
families had been close friends since the O’Brian’s had moved into the house,
shortly after I was born. Matt is the same age as Jess was, so they had grown
up together and had been close friends since they could walk. They’d gone
through school and college together, then even on to the same university,
remaining close throughout. It was inevitable that they would continue on to
fall in love and get married; it had been a prediction for them since they were
kids.
Matt’s
parents still live in that house. Although we don’t see much of his dad these
days, his mum remains a close friend of ours. I’m glad that Mum has someone
living so close that she can turn to if needed, and Mary has been a great
friend to her over the years.
I
pull onto the light gravel driveway, which crunches under the tyres as I approach
the house. Stepping out of the car, I breathe in, filling my lungs to capacity
with the intoxicating fresh air surrounding me. The air here always seems so
light and pure. If I could bottle it and sell it, I have no doubt I would be a
tremendously wealthy woman. Putting up my hand to shield my eyes from the
bright sun, I look out over the lake. Its waters are calm and mirror-like
today, dazzling under the sun’s rays and reflecting back the cloudless sky.
Mum’s
house is situated at the very end of the avenue. It sits alone, with the most
striking view looking south down the lake. It stands high and proud, with steps
leading up to a large wooden porch which wraps around the whole house.
I
open the back door of the car and Josh barges past me rudely, running as fast
as he can, making his way up the many steps and onto the boarded wooden floor
of the porch. My mum appears at the front door and greets him by rapidly
scooping him up in her arms and squeezing him tightly.
“Hi
Grandma!” he shouts in excitement. I wave as she acknowledges me, and I make my
way up to join them.
Alison
Lawson has always been a smart looking woman and now, as she approaches the age
of sixty-five, that fact has never changed. She has mid-length bobbed hair
which she dyes a rich auburn colour, and the same deep hazel eyes as my sister
and myself. She is a petite woman with a small frame, and always looks
immaculate. I admire her strength. Even after losing both her husband and
daughter in such a short space of time, she still always looks like a million
dollars, and has a positive outlook towards anything that comes her way. I am
proud to say she is my mum and hope that one day I will possess the same levels
of strength that she does.
“Hello,
darling,” my mum says, squeezing my shoulders tightly as I join her. She looks
fabulous as always, wearing wide legged black trousers and a thick white cowl
neck jumper. A red and white checked apron covers her front, hanging loosely to
her knees. I hug her back tightly and follow her through into the living room,
where she leaves me to head back to the kitchen.
The
living room is large and adjoins a dining room that looks out over the back
garden. The front area has a huge bay window looking out over the lake. The
walls are dotted with family pictures dating back four decades to when my
parents had first been married. There is an open log fire slowly burning. The
room is as warm and inviting as it always has been.
Barny,
the dog, lies stretched out on a plush cream rug in front of the fire. He doesn’t
stir as I stroke him lightly on the back, before settling down on the large
sofa nearest to the window. Josh enters the room behind me and makes his way
straight to the dog who, in turn, stands up and starts to wag his tail as Josh
pats him affectionately on the head. Barny is a fine-looking Golden Labrador.
He has been in the family since he was a small puppy. His face is now white and
he is a lot slower than he used to be. He has been a loyal family friend and
remains one as he enters old age.
I
look around the room as Mum busies herself in the kitchen. She must have been
baking; there is a sweet, vanilla infused smell in the air of homemade cakes. I
can hear her clattering around, probably ensuring that she has everything just
right. She has always been ridiculously organised, almost to an obsessive
level. I wouldn’t dare enter the kitchen and interrupt her methodical routine.
I
have so many good memories of growing up here, being back makes me happy
inside. Whenever I return, I am always overcome by an immensely content feeling
that I can rarely find elsewhere. I suppose you could say that I had an idyllic
childhood, being lucky enough to have been brought up in such a delightful
place, with such a loving family. It’s something I appreciate and find I cling
onto even more, now that Jess has gone. I firmly believe that nothing in life
can be taken for granted, because you really don’t know what is around the
corner.
I
cross the room to the open log fire and pick up the framed photograph that
rests next to a small gold carriage clock on the mantelpiece. Even though the
place is packed full of family photos, this one has always been my favourite;
in the photo stands Ryan, Jess and myself. I look about twelve years old, which
would have made Jess seven and Ryan five. I pose, with my arms behind my back,
dressed in a pretty pink summer dress trimmed with frills. My hair is gripped
in place with glittery purple bows. Jess is on the other side, with Ryan in the
middle. Ryan is holding onto both our hands, wearing a huge cheesy grin, with
chocolate smeared all over his chubby little face. Jess smiles sweetly, her
long blonde hair scooped back into plaited pigtails. She is wearing denim
dungarees and trainers, with mud on her knees and a white plaster cast on her left
wrist.
Jess
had been a bit of a tomboy when she was younger. Although we resembled each
other in looks, we were complete opposites in so many other ways. I loved
dressing in pretty clothes and playing with my girly toys, whereas she couldn’t
stand it. When we were young, Jess would follow me around like a shadow, but as
we got a little older and she formed her own personality, she started to spend
more and more time with Matt.
Jess
loved nothing more than playing next to the lake with Matt, climbing trees,
paddling in the lake or playing sword fights with sticks on its shore. She had
numerous cuts, bruises and sprains over the years and had even managed to fall
from a tree and fracture her wrist one summer, which explained the plaster cast
in the photo. Mum and Dad’s persistent requests not to do anything dangerous
had only fuelled her passion for more. I glance down to the bottom of the back
garden, where the now old and weathered tree house that she and Matt had helped
Dad to build and spent so many hours in as kids, sits alone.
Jess
and our dad had an undeniable bond. Although our father was adamant about the
fact that he didn’t have a favourite child, both Ryan and I knew this wasn’t
strictly accurate. It didn’t upset me, not in the slightest. Ryan maintains
that it never bothered him either, but I know this isn’t true. He was a little
jealous of Jess at times whilst growing up, secretly wishing he could have the
same bond with our dad. But he never let it show, in fear of ever hurting her.