Chapter 21
The Harrods bag Gregory brought to the hotel contained skinny, indigo jeans and a Ralph Lauren striped shirt that he had sent to the hospital yesterday to bring with us. After a tussle about me paying him back, which he of course won, I had to admit to being grateful for clean lingerie.
‘I love those boots,’ Gregory says through a cheeky grin as I zip them to the knee. ‘Can I make you mine again today?’
‘You have no idea how much I wish I could say yes but I want to see my dad.’
‘Of course you do. Later maybe?’
‘You’re not sick of me yet?’ I laugh but it’s quickly stifled by his serious face. ‘I’ll give you a call when I’m done at the hospital.’
We drive back towards London, talking easily.
In fact, everything is so comfortable between us, it’s almost surreal.
Gregory has an opinion on just about everything: business, law, the world.
But it’s not annoying or self-righteous; it’s informed and intelligent.
There’s a warmth in my chest as I watch the way he moves and speaks.
That feeling disappears when we pull up to the entrance of the hospital.
Something feels off: wrong, not safe or right.
An eerie sensation makes me shiver and the hairs prick up on my arms. I’m watching the sky turn dark and the world grow small around me from outside my own body.
I don’t remember whether or how I say goodbye to Gregory as I leave the car and float to the hospital entrance.
A sudden jerk against my shoulder throws me back into the reality of my body, a jerk so hard from a hooded man that I turn to watch him walk out through automatic doors.
His head is down, his face angled towards the floor, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his navy jumper.
He never looks back or ventures to offer an apology.
I shake my head to find sense and tell my legs to keep moving towards the lifts despite the increasing weakness they feel.
The lift clicks past each floor, stopping to allow people on and off until we finally arrive at my dad’s ward.
‘Scarlett.’ Elexis, the nurse, has come to know me by name. Her voice is unusually leaden, her effervescent personality vanished. ‘We’ve been trying to call you.’
My chest tightens. ‘What? What is it?’
Doctor Jefferson steps towards me from behind the nurses’ station. ‘Let’s go to the relatives’ room.’
‘Tell me, please,’ I beg, unable to hide the panic in my voice.
The doctor moves to touch my arm but I snap it out of his reach.
‘Let me see my dad. I want to see my dad!’
‘Scarlett,’ Elexis pleads, ‘I think you should go with the doctor first.’
‘No,’ I cry, tears falling from my face, saliva bursting into my words. ‘Let me see him! Let me see him.’ Elexis glances to another nurse, who steps out of Dad’s room, removing her nitrile gloves and placing them on a trolley of plastic bottles. The nurse nods to Elexis and I run to my dad.
My legs give way beneath me at the sight of his grey, lifeless body laid out in fresh sheets.
His eyes are closed and his arms rest perfectly still at either side of his body.
His hair has been combed in a way Sandy and I would never comb it, and seems darker than it did just yesterday.
His face is peaceful and for the first time since I can remember, there are no signs of pain.
He looks like my old dad, the one who’s been lost for too long.
The machines are gone, and the wet lip swaps have been removed from the side table.
The clouds in the sky have dispersed to allow a small ray of sun to beam through the window and across his cheek.
Wiping my face, I walk hesitantly to his side and take his cold hand in mine.
‘How long?’
‘About an hour,’ Elexis says, placing a hand on my shoulder.
‘Does Sandy know?’
‘No, I’m sorry, Scarlett, we couldn’t call her. If you like, with your permission, I can call her now for you.’
‘No, thank you. I’ll do it.’
She nods and turns to leave the room.
‘Wait. Was he alone?’
She sighs, which I take to mean yes. ‘Scarlett, you really need to speak to the doctor.’
‘Please tell me how it happened.’
She sighs again. ‘I found him.’
‘Found him?’ I ask, turning to face her.
‘It was time. I’ve been in this job many years and you can tell, by their breathing, their colouring. I knew it was almost time. I left the room to call you but I couldn’t reach you.’
A small sob escapes me.
‘When I came back to him, his machine… his oxygen, had… well, I don’t know, maybe come loose. He was gone.’
‘What are you saying, Elexis?’
‘I – I… it could have happened I guess if his body jumped at the last minute, like a reflex, I’m not sure.’
‘Did his machine coming loose kill him?’ I probe.
‘It would be hard to say which came first, Scarlett. Like I said, his body was failing him; he was going. I just wanted to give you the full picture because there might have to be an inquest. I hope not, because it was natural in my opinion, but that’s what Doctor Jefferson will explain to you.’
Confused, I thank her and ask to be left alone.
As she’s leaving the room, I hear commotion in the corridor: the sound of someone running.
Suddenly, Gregory is at the entrance to the room, sweating and panting.
Seeing my dad’s lifeless body, he pulls his hands through his hair then drops one hand to cover his mouth.
‘Christ. Fuck. Scarlett.’
Something is very wrong. Dad was frail, yes, but just yesterday, just hours ago, he was still fighting.
‘W-what are you doing here?’ I ask warily, unsure if I want to know the answer. ‘Gregory!’ I shout at his blank expression. The colour drains from his flushed cheeks and his desperate breaths stop. ‘Gregory!’
He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. His face twists and his eyes darken with something – anger or pain, maybe. He bites his knuckle and pulls his free hand through his hair again. This usually composed man is undone.
‘Gregory, you’re scaring me.’
‘Scarlett,’ he croaks, moving closer to me.
I take a step back, pressing my legs against Dad’s bed. Gregory reaches his hands towards my face but drops them when I flinch.
‘There was a note,’ he says, his voice more certain.
‘What kind of note?’
‘At the apartment. Jackson left me a voicemail but – but I didn’t get it until I dropped you off and checked my messages.’
Jackson . The man who thought my dad had been pushed down the stairs. The one who’d seen – who’d shared – the seed of doubt I’d refused to let grow.
‘What did the note say? What did the note say, Gregory?’
I don’t need an answer. I know what it said. Jackson was right. I was right. Pearson was seeking revenge. Gregory’s father has killed mine.
Realisation comes crashing to me. My hands rise to cover my face. ‘It was him. All along. Jackson knew. It was him. Pearson was at my house but he found my dad instead of me. He put my dad in here. He put him here and the sick fuck came back to finish what he started.’
‘Scarlett, baby.’ He steps towards me and I lash out, smacking his hands away.
‘I’m not your fucking baby! I’ll never be your baby. This is?—’
I stop myself short of telling him that this is all his fault. I don’t know why but even now, I can’t say those words.
‘Why?’ I cry. ‘Why me? Why my dad? Why us?’
Gregory takes a deep breath and pulls his body to stand straight. He looks to the lifeless body on the bed and back to me before saying, almost inaudibly, ‘Because of me.’
The words impale me. The words I was expecting but didn’t want to hear strike my body like lasers, burning deep beneath the surface.
Pearson killed the person I love most in the world. Murdered him to avenge that deal. Gregory’s deal. The one I helped him close.
I killed my own dad.
Cramps tear through my stomach, causing me to fold forwards then drop to my knees.
I open my mouth to scream through the agony but no noise materialises.
Pain courses through me, a pain so bad, I think my head might split into two halves.
Gregory steps towards me but I manage to raise one hand to tell him to stop.
‘Get out!’ I whisper through clenched tenth.
‘Scarlett, please,’ Gregory begs, taking another step towards me.
Finally, I find my voice and scream, ‘Get out!’
As if hearing my cries, Sandy is at the door.
‘Jackson told me,’ she says to Gregory before running to be next to me on the floor. ‘Breathe, darling, I’m here,’ she says softly into my ear, then kisses my brow.
‘He’s gone,’ I sob into her chest. ‘It wasn’t time. He wasn’t ready. He’s gone.’
What I don’t say is, He was murdered .