TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy) Read online

  I’m shaking my head, trying to make sense of it but his explanation is cloaked in medical jargon.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means he perforated the wall of your uterus with a single blow. You were hemorrhaging internally. They performed an ultrasound scan, saw what had happened, and got you into surgery within thirty minutes.” He reaches out and strokes my hair, patiently waiting for some kind of response.

  My mind is in a whirl. “What about our baby?”

  He shakes his head, slowly, feeling the agony of loss with each millimeter.

  I nod. It’s not like I didn’t know.

  “Try not to worry about that now. There will be plenty of time for baby-making when you’re fit and well.” He tries to lessen the blow with a flat smile. “I’m upset about it too.” He edges closer and wraps his arms around me. “You’re all that matters now.”

  With my one free hand I stroke his back, feeling tense muscles beneath my fingers.

  His soft thumb brushes away my tears. “Now. This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to call the nurse and have her come and freshen you up. And, while she does, I’ll go and get you something to eat. What would you like?”

  “I’m not hungry, Ayden.”

  “You must be. It’s been two days since you ate. Today’s Thursday.”

  I’m shocked. “Thursday!”

  “Yes. You’ve been out of it for a couple of days. It’s …” He glances at his watch. “It’s 5p.m. What shall we have to eat?” He’s trying so hard to be brave but the way his eyes are darting from left to right, I know it’s all bravado.

  “Anything. But only a small portion.”

  “Leave it with me. I have special training in patient care, remember.” He kisses my forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

  Alone for the first time, I feel the weight of a heavy heart. I have a scar on my stomach, which I have yet to see, and a feeling of emptiness that is sucking my energy with the force of a black hole. I remember falling into this dark place and now, clawing my way out of it will take every ounce of willpower I have.

  The door opens and a smartly dressed nurse of around forty enters, pushing a silver trolley. On the top of it is a bowl of steaming water fragranced with something flowery. Beside it is a white, fluffy towel and a flannel; next to that an assortment of toiletries and a mirror. I assume I’m to have a bed bath.

  “Good afternoon Elizabeth. It’s good to see you’re awake. My name is Lorna. Now let’s get you feeling a little fresher, shall we?”

  Silently, I nod and prepare to be bathed.

  I’m feeling a little better when Ayden returns laden down with brown paper bags, brimming over with food. I assume he has invited guests as there’s surely enough for a party of four. He proceeds to empty the contents onto the side table, whispering something about knives and forks. I take my eyes off the food and give him a lengthy appraisal from head to toe, noticing his roughly dried hair and the four o’clock shadow on his chin that fails to conceal the bruises. I look at his hands and how they are bruised and grazed on the knuckles, the result of bare-fisted brawling with my monster. But, most of all, I focus on the clouds of sadness extinguishing the fire in his eyes. He is a man exhibiting the emotional and physical scars of a life and death struggle. He’s my savior. He’s the man I adore.

  “Ayden,” I call, drawing his eyes from the food to me. “Help me sit up and tell me what you’ve brought for dinner.” A person can only wallow in self-pity for so long.

  One handed, I eat what I can of the delicious pasta and vegetables and sample the meat dish, trying to appear willing but, in truth, forcing it down. Ayden’s doing the same and we both pick at gourmet food that finds its way into our mouths only to stick in our throats. It’s a kind of weight-watchers waltz that involves pushing food around a plate and feigning consumption. We’re both too full of sorrow to eat.

  I pat my mouth with a napkin and marvel at the swiftness with which Ayden clears away the food, refilling the bags until they are once again brimming over. With that distraction out of the way he fluffs up my pillow and perches on the side of the bed, preparing to make idle gossip, but he has absolutely no idea how to do that and I come to his rescue.

  “Have you spoken to Charlie?”

  He nods, thankful for my conversation starter. “Yes. She was one of the first people I called. She’s been here three times while you were sleeping.”

  “Is she alright?”

  “You’re the one in the hospital bed, Beth,” he reminds me.

  “I know but she worries about me.”

  “As well she might, you’ve been to hell and back.”

  I force an amiable smile. “I’d like to see her later. Just to let her know I’m okay.”

  “I’ll call her, don’t worry. Do you feel tired?” He pulls up the bedding around my waist.

  “No. Just worn out, but I’ll be alright.”

  “You will. The consultant Gynecologist should be along soon. He has the results of some tests and of the ultrasound scan you had this morning.”

  “This morning? Why don’t I remember that?”

  “You’ve been sedated. I told them I didn’t want you to suffer, so they thought it best you rested while your body healed.”

  “Oh. I suppose I should thank you for that.”

  “No need. I was happy to watch you sleep.” His hand finds my face. “You’re so beautiful, Beth”

  I huff away the compliment. “I don’t feel beautiful and the nurse wouldn’t let me see myself in the mirror. She said maybe tomorrow as if I was a two year old. Why don’t you pass me a mirror so I can see just how beautiful I am?”

  He’s shaking his head. “There’s no rush. Just take my word for it, for now.”

  “You’re a terrible liar, Ayden. I can imagine what I must look like. I can feel my lips are swollen and my face is puffy. I remember what he did to me, and what he did to you.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Just a couple of cuts and bruises. It’s nothing to write home about.”

  I lift his left hand to my lips and kiss his knuckles. “There. All better.”

  Unable to contain powerful emotions, his voice cracking, he wraps me in his arms. “Beth, I love you so much.”

  I bury my nose in his hair. “I love you more, Ayden.”

  The door opens and a tall gentleman enters wearing a golfing sweater and slacks. Unselfconsciously, Ayden releases me, wipes his eyes and turns to face him, “Good evening, Mr. Roper. This is my wife, Elizabeth Stone. She’s wide awake and looking lovely.” His face creases into an exaggerated smile.

  “And so she is. Good evening, Elizabeth. I’m the consultant Gynecologist. How are you feeling tonight?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “Fine.”

  “I do hope Ayden has been taking good care of you.” Ayden steps aside, allowing him to take up his position by my side. He takes my hand in his, resting experienced fingers on my wrist to feel my pulse, and checking the monitor beeping to my left. “You have a good colour. Have you eaten anything?”

  “Yes, we’ve had a picnic dinner,” I answer, glancing over at Ayden who, for some reason is beginning to pace anxiously.

  “Very nice.” He looks into my eyes and I sense some kind of announcement is coming. “I assume Ayden has told you that we had to operate?”

  I nod.

  “You’re doing very well now, but the baby you had growing inside you is no longer there. Thankfully it was early days, but I know that’s no consolation.”

  “We’ve spoke about it. I understand. We have plenty of time to make babies.” I force a smile and look over to Ayden who’s nodding in agreement.

  He slides off the bed. “Good. Now I must continue with my rounds. If you need anything or want to chat about anything at all, Ayden has my number. Goodnight, Elizabeth.” He turns to Ayden, “Mr. Stone…”

  I watch him leave and wonder why Ayden is so quick to follow him out. I feel perfectly fine, a little sore but not in any p
ain or discomfort.

  When Ayden returns, he has the weight of the world on his shoulders; he’s pacing, rubbing his neck, looking across at me then turning away.

  “Ayden? What’s wrong?”

  With a thud he rests uncomfortably on the edge of the bed, contemplating his words. He begins to speak then stops.

  I can’t stand the waiting. “Tell me!”

  “They analysed the results of the ultrasound scan this morning and it’s … it’s ...” He looks at me through eyes that are swimming in tears. “ … it’s not good.”

  My heart is racing. “What do you mean?”

  “There was a lot of internal bleeding. They fear you may not be able to conceive again after what he did to you … baby, I’m so, so sorry.”

  He leans in to embrace me but I push him away. “What! You’re telling me I can’t conceive. We may never be able to make another baby?” The seriousness of his declaration causes tears to roll down my cheeks like a flood. Between sobs I’m pleading, “That can’t be true. Please tell me that’s not true.”

  Ayden lifts my hand to his mouth and his tears trickle over my fingers. He can’t speak. He simply nods.

  “How can this be happening? Ayden! How? That bastard has haunted me forever and even in death he still tortures me.” I shake my hand free of Ayden and sob into my palms until my cries fuse into a gut-wrenching howl.

  Forcefully, Ayden pulls my hands from my tear soaked face and places his own inches in front of me. “We’ll travel the world looking for a cure. There are things we can do.” He’s trying to offer me a lifeline but, in my emotional state, his words are lost in the whirlwind of realization. He can offer me no hope. Nothing.

  “Beth,” he whispers, this is another hurdle for us to get over, baby. It’s just that. We still have each other. I love you more than life itself. You remember that, right?”

  I’m shaking my head; too distraught to hear anything.

  “I know you wanted our baby so much, but it wasn’t meant to be.”

  I can’t accept what he’s saying. “But it’s what you wanted. You said so; to finally have a family. You won’t have that, not if you stay with me.”

  “Beth. I don’t give a fuck about what I said. This is about us now. We’ll get through this, together.”

  I pull my hands free of his. “No. I can’t let you do it. You deserve better. I can’t give you what you want most. I’ve been nothing but trouble since the day we met. Leave! Just leave!”

  He looks at me with undiluted horror. “No! Why would I want to leave you?”

  “Because I don’t want you here.” I slip down under the bedding and turn away from him. I can’t allow him to settle for me. I have always been damaged goods. I’ve been soiled and now …

  His hands are in his hair. “You’re upset. I get that, but you’re doing what you always do. You’re taking the fall for me; trying to let me off lightly when it’s all my fault.” He’s shaking his head, massaging his neck and so fueled with rage I think he may explode. “I should have organised 24 hour security for you. I should have kept you safe and I’m the one responsible for this not you! I’ll leave so you can rest but, no matter what, I will always come back to you.” He storms out of the room, leaving me open-mouthed and speechless.

  Left alone to reflect on my unreasonable behavior I struggle to hold onto a rational thought. The drugs have dampened my senses, I’m not thinking straight. I didn’t mean what I said. He’s not responsible. I sit bolt upright and call out his name. “Ayden.”

  No one comes.

  “Ayden!”

  Nurse Lorna appears, leaving the door ajar. I catch sight of Ayden sitting on the floor, his back against the far wall; his head in his hands. Jake towers over him, placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

  “Lorna, please get Ayden.”

  She senses my agitated state. “Now, Elizabeth, please settle down. Are you feeling any pain?”

  “No. Please get Ayden.”

  “Can I get you a drink or anything?”

  “No! Just get me Ayden,” I yell at the top of my voice.

  Looking startled she returns to the door and opens it. I see Ayden snatching the keys out of Jake’s hand. His fists are clenched and he is visibly shaking and yelling. “Give me the fucking keys!”

  Before I can form a sentence, he’s gone. I call out his name, “Ayden!” But no one hears; only Jake turns and glares at me, stunned, realizing what just happened.

  What have I done?

  ***

  Too incensed to return to work, Elise storms out of Dan Rizler’s apartment and dives into her car. She heads home harnessing her thoughts long enough to call her office, claiming to be laid-up with a migraine.

  Once inside her top floor apartment she makes straight for the tray of spirits neatly arranged on a wooden cabinet and pours herself a very large whiskey. She gulps it down and smashes the glass onto the tray with a noisy clatter.

  Kicking off her shoes as she goes, she drags a dining chair beneath the loft opening and begins lowering dust-coated boxes one at a time until three of them litter her tidy lounge. They were once labelled but the letters have long since faded and the occasional streak of a marker pen is not enough to distinguish one set of contents from another.

  With hands covered in a layer of black soot, she tears open the first box; a plume of dust scatters across a cream rug, speckling it with black polka-dots until it resembles a snow leopard.

  Unconcerned, she rifles through the contents, lifting out estate agency paraphernalia: brochures, a Contract of Employment, old wage slips. Realising it’s not what she’s looking for she pushes it aside and tears off the tape from the top of the second box. Inside are old exercise books, a Certificate for taking part in a Tennis Tournament and a small winner’s cup for an under 16’s Netball Competition. All these things are worthless in her eyes. The one thing she is looking for must be in the third box.

  She scratches off the tape with her fingernails and lifts back the flaps. Inside are multi-coloured pouches from an assortment of photo processing companies; odd photos are bundled together in years or holidays. Right at the bottom are a selection of photos that have faded and yellowed over time. At least two of them are 22 years old but no less important for the passage of time.

  She takes hold of them, one in each hand. The first, on the left, is of her with an older boy. He has waves of black hair and eyes that sparkle like the Caribbean Sea. He has his arm around her shoulders as if protecting her from all the horrors of a cruel world. She rubs her thumb across his image and smiles at the recollection; days spent in summer sunshine, hours spent in the library, just the two of them; him reading aloud, her dozing under his arm, listening to the gentle beating of his heart. She holds the photo to her breast and closes her eyes, as if it will magically take her back to a time when she felt safe and loved.

  When she opens her eyes she’s still a woman sitting alone, surrounded by an assortment of memories that pale into insignificance compared to the photo she has in her right hand. She holds it so tightly her thumbnail turns a ghostly white, chilled by the ice that has leaked into her bloodstream.

  Like an injured animal she whimpers at the sight of the three of them together; her with Saffi and that girl who came to stay for a week. The one he watched over, took under his wing and married beneath swathes of dust-sheets and ladders they had transformed into a Cathedral. She played the part of the priest; made up something or other about being in love forever and gave them her blessing. This little speck of a girl was the princess and Saffi, well, they both adored him so much he could be whoever he wanted: a lord, a king, even a prince.

  Pushing everything aside, she places the photo down onto the parquet floor and takes the torn image from Dan’s apartment out of her bag. Just to make sure, she places it beneath hers. Recognising the stance, the hair and the emerging beauty of the dark haired girl, she comes to only one conclusion. Ayden has married Frances; he must have looked high and low for h
er. That one realisation cuts through clothes, flesh and bone and pierces her heart.

  She voices her desolation with an agonising cry. “You looked for her but never looked for me.” She beats her fists onto the floor and sobs while her tears fall and crash around her like hailstones.

  Still hoping she’s wrong she drags herself across the floor and opens a drawer, taking out a newspaper cutting of the recently married Mr. Stone.

  She spreads it out beneath the university photo and makes comparisons. The hair colour has changed but it’s the same girl. There’s no mistaking her childlike stance and gentle smile.

  Elise’s body appears to crumple beneath her; she visibly wilts like a flower on the verge of blossoming but starved of attention and left out in the midday sun to die. Of all the disappointments in her life this is by far the worst.

  She rocks back and forth and wails mournfully for the love she thought she once had; out of a long line of painful disappointments, that was the single sliver of goodness she could look back on and retain in her memory as one might a precious particle of hope in a vacuous empty space.

  With that gone, she is left with nothing.

  She tries to stand but the combined effects of grief and neat whiskey have affected her balance. Instead she crawls on all fours over to the cabinet and uses the knobs and frame to stand. With one trembling hand she holds the glass and with the other, starts to pour the whiskey until all her fingers are covered. She sips at the golden liquid and staggers over to the dining table. In front of her is a notepad and pen but she won’t be jotting down the names of prospective homeowners or addresses for viewings, this will be the last thing she ever writes. Thinking only of Ayden, she puts pen to paper and begins …

  To S.

  When there was nothing but dark shadows in my life, I had you. Your radiance was so bright I was happy to kneel at your feet and lift my gaze to catch some of that light on my innocent face.

  When the dark shadows took me away I called for you every night until I realised you wouldn’t come. I was alone …