Ella watched as Rowena held the banana-shaped bottle, which contained milk expressed from Ella’s breast, to Christophe’s mouth.
Her heart tore in two as she saw her child make no sucking movement. His head flopped back on his shoulders. His eyes looked huge in their sunken sockets, and his skin hung loosely on his wasted body, exposing his ribs.
‘Oh, Rowena, if only we could get food inside him. He would gain strength then.’
Rowena looked up. Her eyes were full of tears. ‘It’s God’s will, Missy Ella. There are children that belong to Him and, no matter what we do, we cannot hold on to them.’
‘No! No, I won’t accept that. There must be a way of feeding my darling child. Please, God, show us a way.’
Rowena shook her head. ‘Help him, Missy Ella. Help him to take his last journey. He needs you to let him go.’
A gasp from behind her had Ella turning. Paulo stood, supported by his two walking sticks. ‘Rowena is right. Darling, y – you . . . we gave him life, now we have to help him p – pass.’
On hearing this, everything drained from Ella.
The last week, since Ella had sold the car, had seen her world crumble around her. Some of the money she’d spent on a visit from Dr Warner. The potion he’d brought with him, which she was to rub on Paulo’s chest, had helped him greatly, and a new oxygen cylinder had meant that he could spend longer getting relief from his struggle to breathe. They had been trying to make the old one last longer, and limiting his time using it. Now, with this new regime, Paulo was so much better. But her beloved son had deteriorated and they had been told by the doctor that he only had days to live.
Standing as if turned to a statue, Ella stared at her child; something told her that once she held him, she would lose him. Help me, Lord, to do what I must do . . . Help me.
A feeling of strength filled her as her prayer died, and she moved forward. Gently taking Christophe from Rowena, Ella sat down on the sofa and cradled him to her. Paulo sat down next to her. His hand found hers under the blanket that was wrapped around their child.
The click of the door leading to the kitchen was hardly discernible, but Ella knew that Rowena had left them alone.
‘My son, we . . . M – Mama and Papa . . . understand that you have to go.’
Ella wanted to scream against Paulo’s words, but she didn’t. She found Christophe’s tiny hand and curled it around her finger. ‘Papa’s right, m – my darling, we . . . we know that you have to go, but you will always be in our hearts. We love you.’ Her tears fell onto Christophe’s dear little face. He closed his eyes. His chest expanded one more time. And he was gone.
Agony clutched at Ella’s heart. ‘My baby, my beautiful baby.’ Her moans burned her chest and rasped her throat. Paulo clung on to her, his own sobs trembling through her. His arms were holding her, his love trying to shield her, but nothing could do that. Her world had slipped into a gulf of nothingness.
Three weeks of silence had descended on their home, ever since the burial of little Christophe. Nothing of the outside world could penetrate the grief that was clothing the very walls around them. Hours were spent just sitting, holding hands, staring into a void.
Today, Rowena had called round. Mechanically Ella had opened the door to her and Rowena had walked in. Now she was busy. Curtains that had remained closed were opened, and windows slid up on their sashes, making a noise that grated on Ella.
The sound of a carpet sweeper, and then of a brush, went on around them. They remained in their place of nothingness.
‘Lordie, Missy Ella, how long yous going to sit there? Master Christophe wouldn’t want his ma and pa to carry on in this way.’
Hearing His name curled Ella’s insides into a tight, agonizing knot, but Rowena was right. Dear Rowena, what a friend she’d turned out to be, visiting them every couple of days, even though it was a bus ride and a fair walk for her. Each time she’d cleaned around them and cooked them a meal and then left them to themselves, but today was different; today she seemed determined to disturb them.
‘Missy Ella, yous got to snap out of this. I’m afraid for you both. ’Tis doing you no good. No good at all.’
‘She’s right, mon amour. Let’s go for a walk today. Let’s visit Christophe.’
Ella nodded. Rising, she crossed over to the bedroom. ‘I’ll get your chair and oxygen.’
‘Lord, ain’t this a good day. After today you will both begin to live a little, once more. Now hurry yourselves – yous are in me way.’
Without thinking, Ella smiled. She never thought she would ever smile again, but a warmth entered her as she did so.
The noise was the first thing Ella noticed in the outside world: horses’ hooves rhythmically tapping the cobbled road; the screeching wheels of the carriages they pulled; but above this was the heavy sound of motorized vehicles, which far outnumbered the horse-drawn ones, and added a smell that was worse than horse-dung, as they puffed out dirty fumes from their exhausts.
Clutching the handles of the wicker bath chair, Ella stared straight ahead. The cemetery was only a short distance away, but it was far enough for her to push the chair, with the added weight of the oxygen.
Seeing the tiny mound of earth sliced pain through Ella. She sought and found Paulo’s hand. He pulled her round to him and sat her on his knee. Together they sat, saying nothing, letting the breeze that rustled through the trees, and the birds singing out, be the only sounds. It was surprisingly therapeutic, and a peace descended that Ella hadn’t experienced since Christophe left them.
Paulo’s arms tightened around her. His lips nuzzled her neck. ‘I love you, my darling – mon amour.’
Inside, Ella felt as if she was awakening from a dream, one that had encased and held her in its nightmarish grasp. Being able to feel anything at all had been difficult, because pain overrode all other emotions. But other emotions were now seeping into her. Love for Paulo. Thrill at his touch. A tingling that crept over her and clenched her muscles in anticipation.
Paulo felt it, too. It was as if life itself was breathing back into them. How this could happen, when the source of their pain lay at their feet, Ella did not know. She turned and smiled at Paulo, a watery smile that dripped with her tears. His eyes glistened with his heartache, but also with a love that she felt she could taste. When her lips met his, she tasted love. Salty tears spilled over, bittersweet with their shared pain – and yet it was all she needed.
‘Put our flowers on our little one’s grave, darling. We need to go home, to give comfort and receive it, knowing that we have Christophe’s blessing to go forward.’
‘I felt that, too. Almost as if he spoke to us. I know for certain that our darling boy wants us to be happy.’
Rowena had already left when they arrived home. She’d scribbled a note, telling them that her heart remained with them, but that her husband would be coming in to find no tea, if she didn’t get home. She’d left a stew on the stove. Most of the message was misspelled, which made Ella giggle – ‘I left a meet stow on the cocker, make sure yous eat it. It will give you strength.’
‘What a lovely sound.’
‘What?’
‘You giggling, mon amour.’
Turning, Ella saw that Paulo was out of his chair and was standing, strong and tall. What a difference the oxygen and the chest rub are having on his health. ‘You look beautiful,’ she told him.
‘I want to make love to you, my beautiful.’
Ella caught her breath with the intensity of feeling that zinged through her veins.
She wasn’t sure how she came to be in his arms, feeling his breath on her cheek and then on her chest, as he lowered his head and kissed the mound of her breast, now rising and falling as she gasped in air and expelled it.
His touch was light, brushing the delicate skin that lay exposed in the deep neckline of her blouse. Ella shuddered.
‘Come.’ Taking her hand, Paulo led her to their bedroom. The heady smell of roses mingled with wax polish met them. Rowena must have been in here – what a wonder she was! Perhaps she had a sixth sense that they would come alive again, once they had taken that step to visit Christophe?
‘They’re from our rose garden. How thoughtful of Rowena.’
‘Yes, darling, she is a wise lady. The roses speak of the love that I have for you.’ Paulo’s voice held a deep, husky sound.
As they helped each other out of their clothing, it was as if there was nothing wrong with Paulo. For this moment in time he was whole. Strong. Her lover.
Though Ella felt an urgency, there was no haste to give themselves to one another. They dedicated time to delicious coaxing, caressing, kissing and sensuous words, whispered, breathed, sighed.
When finally they joined, it was as if it was the first time. Ella felt in touch with a deeper inner self, heightened to sensation. Within moments of feeling Paulo enter her, she exploded. She was the Catherine wheel she’d seen during the celebrations at the end of the war, spitting out a kaleidoscope of coloured sparks in a joyous swirl of pleasure. A pleasure that built as Paulo’s movements became stronger, and his ardour had him sucking on her nipples, her skin and nipping her lips in gentle sensual bites.
They reached their climax together, their gasps and hollers joining, their grip on each other tightening as if they would never let go.
It was then that they folded in tears. Joy mingled with sorrow. Their bodies remained entwined, their arms seeking to comfort and to love.