Chapter Nine

Evie

Logan had insisted on being dressed and helped on and then off his stairlift, so he could access his living room. Nothing Evie said convinced him he was better off in bed.

‘Don’t you think I’ve suffered enough indignities this morning?’ he’d said. ‘I’m not spending the day stuck in this godforsaken room. It’s the beginning of the end.’

And so, after an hour of personal cleaning, sheet changing, whispered reassurances that everything was all right and shouts of, ‘This is why I want to go’, and, ‘I don’t want to be a burden’, Evie and Logan were seated in separate chairs, in silence.

Evie gave consideration to Logan’s declaration. If this was the beginning of the end, how far away was the finish line? Her father-in-law was seventy-four. Granted, he wasn’t a young man, and this morning’s trauma had aged him, but people lived full lives well into their eighties.

She sneaked a glance at him. He was staring at the blank TV. There was something of Griff about him – the squareness of the chin and an intensity behind the eyes – other than that, she wouldn’t have picked either of them out of a line-up as related. Their personalities were the clue. Both were confident, protective and spoke from the hip. Both would risk everything to make a difference and leave a lasting memory. And both needed to be in control of their own life.

Or death, in Logan’s case.

‘You will help me, won’t you?’ Logan’s gaze remained rooted to the TV. ‘You’re the only one I can ask. The only one who will see it through.’

‘I signed your Advance Decision, and I’ve promised to see that through. Isn’t that enough?’ Evie cocked her head, waiting for a reply. An answer wasn’t forthcoming. ‘There are other ways, Logan. You must see that?’

Logan turned, his hooded, blue eyes the most animated part of his body, striking the inharmonious chords in Evie’s conscience.

‘Don’t, Logan. This isn’t fair.’

‘And this is?’ With the physical strain extending across his face, Logan raised an arm a couple of inches and half turned his palm to the ceiling. With his body tremoring, his shoulders dropped and his hand thumped down onto his lap. ‘These were surgeon’s hands. They saved lives. I saved lives. Surely I have the right to decide when to die?’

‘You’re disabled, Logan. With rheumatoid arthritis.’ Evie left her seat and made her way to the kitchen. The room was closing in on her. ‘You’re not in imminent danger of dying.’

‘Don’t you walk away.’ Logan’s voice had gained strength. ‘Get back here and let this play out. It’s what I have to do. I don’t have the luxury of taking off when the heat is on.’

Scolded and instantly remorseful, Evie returned to the living room. ‘I’m sorry. What I said was unforgivable.’ She perched on the pale oak coffee table. Although sympathetic towards his situation, she had to consider the gravity of the consequences. ‘You must know what you’re asking is against the law. It’s assisted suicide.’ There. She’d said it. But the jolt of speaking it out loud was greater on her than Logan, with graphic visuals of her weeping children invading her head. That was where it was heading, though. Ultimately. The death of their granddad and the incarceration of their mother. Unless Evie could talk Logan round. ‘There are other options. Other means of help.’

Logan shook his head and closed his eyes. ‘I’ve told you before. I don’t want other help.’

He’d objected to the idea on numerous occasions, and Evie had backed him up. She understood Logan not wanting strangers in his house, turning up late in the morning to get him out of bed, or early in the evening to put him back in. He argued he would be at their mercy, and they’d have total access to his house, coming and going as they pleased, perhaps even when he was out with Evie.

‘You wouldn’t like it,’ he’d said to her. ‘You’d have to hide everything away each time you went out.’

Evie could see his point.

‘In fact,’ he continued, ‘you couldn’t leave anything out at any time, day or night. I don’t want strangers looking at my bank statements. How would I know what they were up to once I was put to bed?’

‘There are decent firms out there,’ she’d replied. ‘But I hear what you’re saying.’

‘I trust you, Evie. And I know you’re not on the take. You’re a capable, caring woman, with the energy of a power station, and I appreciate what you do for me. I can never thank you enough, and I promise, the moment I become a burden, the second my body holds me prisoner, I will find my own solution.’

At the time, Evie hadn’t considered suicide as the solution, but finding Logan as she had that morning – having to clean him, dress him and tell him it would be all right – brought home everything he’d said about the loss of dignity.

But suicide?

She was still shocked that she was contemplating his plea. She should have said no from the get-go. No, like she’d told Dylan when he’d played too rough with a boy at the toddler group. No, the word she’d used on Ozzy when he’d jumped up at the kitchen counter. No, the reply she should have given when Griff asked if there was someone else … At times it came to her freely, but never when someone needed or wanted something from her.

Although not at ease with the idea, she felt less conflicted by the Advance Decision. It was a document outlining the care Logan wished to receive in his final days – no tubes, no assisted breathing, no resuscitation. It was daunting stuff, but it wasn’t about him taking his life, it was about Logan being allowed to let go. There was a subtle difference and one Evie could live with.

She could try to talk him round. Ask him to look beyond the present. Explain the demands and pressures she was facing. Tell him how much she needed to be at home for Tess and Dylan, both at crucial stages of their lives. Tess was in her exam year and Dylan needed to socialise with his peers – get to know the children with whom he’d be attending pre-school.

Perhaps she should let Logan know what a strain it had put on her and Griff’s marriage.

Strain was too generous a word. Fractured was nearer the mark. She’d made the damage done to her marriage sound like a sprain to a muscle, as if a few weeks of rest would set it right, but with the constant beating it was taking, and with nothing to support it, a complete break was inevitable.

Would any of this make a difference to Logan?

Evie shook her head in reply to her question. He was an intelligent, protective, wilful man, who would use those reasons to fuel his fire. He’d say his continued existence would only serve to perpetuate the problems and that by taking him out of the equation his family could return to being a happy, strong and solid unit.

Somehow she had to convince him life was worth living and put a positive spin on the carer situation. Find a way to show him trained staff could improve his quality of life. And hers.

‘You’re not a burden,’ she said, waiting for him to open his eyes before she continued. ‘It’s an honour spending time with you.’ She hesitated, not wanting to add a ‘but’, knowing the word would take away the importance of the preceding sentiment. ‘I miss being with you as your daughter-in-law, the mother to your grandchildren, the wife to your son. With a little extra help, we can get that back.’ He’d be Logan the granddad and the father, not Logan the patient. Evie longed to see those sides of him again. He called her his daughter-in-law, but she felt more like his warden. ‘We’d spend time together as a family.’

No reaction.

Evie tried another angle. ‘You’d have an expert looking after your medical needs. We both know I’m not much good beyond sticky plasters and antiseptic.’

That provoked a twitch of an eyebrow, but nothing more.

She had one last argument; one she was uncomfortable with using, but it would elicit a response.

There’d been a definite shift in their dynamics today, one which neither could ignore.

Logan, the patriarch, the man whose intelligence and courage saved lives, and whose authority and influence had brought an entire hospital to its knees until it addressed its mortality rates, had been reduced to the level of a baby. Everything Evie had done for him that morning, she was to repeat later with Dylan.

This was the catalyst for the renewed cries for help.

‘You wouldn’t have to face me cleaning and dressing you,’ she said, clutching her hands to her breast.

‘The fact anyone has to clean and dress me is enough,’ Logan said, his voice adopting a soft quality.

It sent a shiver from Evie’s chest to her stomach.

He called her to him and she kneeled at his feet. His bony, twisted fingers stretched out for hers. She held them, gently.

‘I used to be like Griff,’ he said. ‘Full of life. Strong. Virile. I took care of my family. I loved Marilyn and Griff with every cell in my body. Everything I did was for them. Always the provider. Always the strong one holding it together. And I’ve never asked for anything in return. I’ve never asked anything of anyone. Not until now. I’m asking you for help, Evie, that’s all. Help me move on to the next life, where Marilyn waits and where there’s no more pain. No more sitting in my own waste. No more … fear.’ A fragile hand pulled away from hers and stroked her hair. ‘You don’t even need to be here when I do it. I just want to make sure I’m not left in limbo. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

She wasn’t sure she did. She looked up expecting to find Logan crippled with pure emotion, but instead was rocked by his steely glare and sheer determination. His thin lips were set hard in a perfect line. He appeared calm, focused and resolute.

‘I’m going to do it, Evie, with or without you.’ His hand withdrew from her head. ‘You’re not the only one who can find other methods.’

Logan’s indomitable expression had stayed with Evie from the second she’d seen his face, to the moment she stepped into the cottage, and now the result of driving home blind, the worry of Logan’s threat, and the shock of Dylan’s seizure was hitting her. All she wanted was to see her baby boy, check in on Tess, and take shelter in Griff’s arms.

As she shut the door and glanced into the kitchen, she saw Griff, his shirt pulled tight across his back, huddled in Ozzy’s corner. She could hear Dylan singing away, repeating the words, ‘Good dog,’ to an indistinct tune. Relief and sadness brought her to a standstill and she allowed herself a moment to work out which emotion had the strongest hold. Relief was the first to let go.

Griff peered over his shoulder. His jaw was set firm, his mouth, reminiscent of Logan’s, was as straight as the horizon, and his eyes were directed at Evie’s. Where his were warm with autumn colours and Logan’s were a cool Arctic blue, both pairs were asking Evie the same question: Why won’t you help me?

He nodded, then returned his attention to the scene in front of him.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got home.’ Evie ventured into the kitchen, stopping after she’d stepped over the threshold. ‘I planned to be, but …’ Excuses, reasons – whatever name she gave to them – weren’t going to help. ‘How’s Dylan?’ She edged a little nearer, circumnavigating the table. ‘He looks his usual self.’

The toddler scrambled to his feet and trotted across to Evie. ‘Mummy!’

She lifted him from under his arms, kissed him several times and held him tight to her chest, taking strength from his display of unconditional love. If only children ruled the world … She laid a cheek on top of his head, his mop of thick hair providing a downy cushion. ‘You had us worried, Dylan. I thought you were—’ She pulled herself up, stopping short of saying, ‘dying’, but the thought alone was enough to trigger the tears. They fell onto the soft feathers of her baby’s head, turning spots of his hair from brown to black. She smoothed them away, wishing her pain was as easily eradicated. She changed her gaze from Dylan’s head to the back of Griff’s. ‘You must be exhausted.’

‘He is.’ Griff remained facing away.

‘I meant you.’ Evie kept her tone gentle. ‘Have you had any sleep?’

Griff’s head moved from side-to-side. ‘Not enough.’

‘Can I get you anything? A bite to eat?’

It seemed so inadequate after everything he’d done for Dylan, but it was all she could permit herself to offer. What she wanted to do and what was appropriate under the circumstances were two entirely different things.

Dylan’s weight shifted and he nestled into her. ‘I’m going to put Dylan down and then I’ll be back,’ she said. ‘Let me make you some lunch. Please.’

Before she left the kitchen, she saw Griff shrug, and took it as acceptance of her proposal. His indifferent gesture was an indication of how unhealthy their relationship had become. Griff was a communicator; a talker; the man who encouraged Evie to open up, express herself, speak out when she had something on her mind. To see him answer in such an apathetic way, and to know it was her actions that had brought him to it, delivered despondent tears to her eyes, a ball of wretchedness to her gut, and a familiar sense of isolation she thought she’d buried with Neil.

If Griff and Logan would just talk …

It was a pointless wish and one that wouldn’t change the fact Evie had no one to blame but herself.

Things had got out of hand and she owed Griff an explanation, but until she’d sorted out the mess in her head and reached a decision about Logan, she’d have to continue on her treacherous course. The journey had to come to an end at some point.

As she settled Dylan into his bed she heard footsteps pad across the landing, followed by a door clicking shut and a squeak of a floorboard, indicating Tess had not been in her bedroom. She too deserved an explanation, but she’d never asked for one. Not even when her father was around. She accepted Evie’s actions without question and, like Dylan, her love was unconditional. ‘She doesn’t need to know,’ Evie said, brushing a finger against Dylan’s cheek. ‘Not yet. I’ll protect you both for as long as I can.’

She’d promised Tess that no matter what, she and Dylan would be her number one priority, but Evie had allowed all the stuff with Logan to sabotage her efforts. It wasn’t good enough. Her children would only ever have one mum. Logan could have any carer he chose. ‘Your granddad’s right about one thing,’ she whispered. ‘It’s time for change.’

Having looked in on her daughter, Evie returned to the kitchen. She took her seat at the opposite end of the table to Griff. ‘Tess has flopped on her bed. She says she’s fine, but she’s so pale normally it’s hard to tell if her colour’s returned.’ Evie’s attempt at humour had no impact on Griff’s fixed expression. ‘It’s a nasty bug.’

Griff’s eyes, already narrow through sheer tiredness, became arrow slits, and his lips, so tight and thin, blanched and almost disappeared. ‘What was so urgent with my dad that you had to shoot off?’

‘I wasn’t going to go until you were home, but he kept trying to reach me.’ Evie pushed her chair away from the table. ‘I was concerned something awful had happened to him.’

‘But he’s okay?’ Griff gripped the edge of the table with both hands. His fingernails were as white as his lips.

‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ Evie said, turning to sit side-saddle. ‘He’s as well as can be expected.’

She stared at the kettle. Griff’s skewed reflection in the curve of the shiny chrome stared back. His face loomed large, out of proportion to his body. It was an unpleasant, distorted vision of him, and one Evie didn’t wish to see, so she switched her view and studied the white handle of the fridge. She could see Griff in her peripheral vision, but at least there were no details glaring back at her from the plastic door grip. ‘Logan needs help,’ she said.

‘Morning, noon and bloody night. He’s taking you for a ride.’ Griff scraped a hand through his hair. It was what Evie called his frustration tell. ‘You’re too soft,’ he said. ‘You need to start saying no. Take back the control.’

Even though Griff had lowered his voice, the words reverberated through Evie. Take back the control. ‘It isn’t about that,’ she said. ‘It’s about compassion and love. He’s family and he needs us.’

‘No, no, no.’ Griff was back to clutching the table. ‘Dylan needs you. Tess needs you. Our family needs you.’ He fell silent, compelling Evie to look at him. He left his chair, approached her and lifted her chin. ‘I need you.’

That simple connection sent a commotion of confused sensations around Evie. When Griff traced the outline of her face with the back of his hand, she disappeared into a moment of time when making love with her husband didn’t involve a conscious decision.

Life was simpler before Logan made it all about death.

She put a hand to Griff’s chest to prevent him leaning in further. He stopped, but didn’t pull away.

‘You don’t need me, though, do you?’ It was as if an on-switch was flicked behind his eyes. An understanding had occurred, but of what was anyone’s guess.

Evie opted to remain silent, letting Griff reach his own conclusions.

He stood upright, nodded, and retreated to the rear door, unlocking it and allowing Ozzy into the garden.

‘My father designed this.’ Griff waved a hand at the outside space. ‘Before I knew you. It was the summer of Mum’s chemo. She had one cycle of treatment to go. Dad would bring her to the house, set her up in one of the padded recliners just here …’ He gestured towards the doormat. ‘And he’d work on the garden. Just things he could manage, you know, weeding, pruning. I did the donkey work.’ Griff ran his fingers along the doorframe.

Evie banished an image from her mind of her and Griff having sex against the door he was now caressing. It had only been the once, but had she known it was a place of such precious memories …

‘Towards the end of summer, I came home to find Mum and Dad sitting on the newly-stained decking.’ He pointed to the far end of the property. ‘It was bare wood when I left for my shift. Dad must have worked like a Trojan. He said Mum slept for the best part of the day, so he knuckled down and got on with it.’ He paused. ‘Dad said it was something he had control over. I remember the way he looked at Mum, and her weak smile she gave in reply. She was pallid grey, and her skin had aged ten years in the last twelve months. Then Dad brought me indoors, sat me down where you are now and told me Mum’s cancer had spread further than originally thought.’

Griff turned in Evie’s direction. He was chewing his lip, a reaction she’d seen enough times to recognise he was struggling with emotion.

After a huge expansion of his chest, he continued with his story. ‘Dad said Mum had chosen to stop her treatment. She wanted to live whatever life she had left experiencing reality. She wanted clarity. She wanted to know she’d heard the blackbird’s morning song and not imagined it through a drug-induced haze. She wanted …’ Griff hooked a foot round the leg of a chair, reeled it in and collapsed onto it, his arms limp at his sides. ‘She wanted to know when she was dying.’ He cuffed his nose and then resumed his slumped position.

This was a part of Griff’s life of which Evie knew little. He rarely spoke of his mother, but it was obvious to Evie from the day they met that Marilyn’s loss had affected him on many levels – levels he’d never invited Evie to explore. She could only assume the dreadful situation they now found themselves in had provided Griff with a need to reach out.

She considered reaching out herself, to show him how much she loved him, explain why she couldn’t be with him right now; tell him the whole story about Logan. It was a revelation to learn how Marilyn and Logan’s paths were so parallel. Marilyn’s decision to stop treatment must have had a profound effect on Logan, influencing his thoughts on the right to die. Put in the same situation, watching a loved one suffer with constant pain, and witnessing their agonising deterioration, Evie could see how one would question quantity over quality. It wasn’t that part of Logan’s request she struggled with.

‘I didn’t realise Marilyn had stopped the chemo,’ she said. ‘What did Logan think about that?’

Griff’s mouth twitched. ‘He supported Mum. I couldn’t believe it. He was a surgeon. He saved lives. He wasn’t a man who gave up just because things got difficult.’ Griff slapped his hands down on the table, then gave his palm a firm rub. ‘We argued. I mean, proper argued. We’d always clashed heads, often disagreed, you know?’ His brow creased as he appeared to study his hand. ‘This was different. This was important. This was about my mum wanting … wanting to die.’

His gaze levelled with Evie’s but his sight appeared to be searching through the devastation behind his eyes.

‘Who wants to die? Life is precious. It’s worth fighting for.’ With a long, onerous blink, he released a slow breath. ‘I lost my best mate at sixteen. Kieran. It was a pointless, tragic death.’

There was a microscopic shake of his head that Evie would have missed had she not been observing Griff so closely. Understanding the importance of what was being shared, she waited to hear more.

‘A group of us decided to spend the day over at The Bill. Girls and boys. They were talking about tombstoning, jumping feet first from a cliff into the sea. It’s so dangerous. I’d always found reasons to not go, but we were there, on the spot, on Pulpit Rock, and Kieran didn’t want to leave.’

Evie extended a hand across the table. She was too far away to make a connection, but she wanted Griff to know she was reaching out, even if the gesture was literal.

‘I told him not to do it. I pulled him back, but everyone was cheering and whistling and showing off, and he shoved me away. Next thing I knew, he was hurtling through the air, heading for the sea.’ Griff flexed his ankle.

It was another small movement Evie noticed.

‘When I looked over the ledge, he wasn’t there. The boys who’d tombstoned before him had surfaced within seconds, so where the hell was he? I counted to ten, praying he was horsing around, hoping I’d hear him whooping and laughing, but by then the girls were screaming and the lads were shouting for help. I couldn’t believe what was happening.’

He looked at Evie. ‘He’d gone. Vanished. And somebody needed to find him.’

‘You jumped in after him?’ Evie identified with the feeling of helplessness and the desire to act, but what a terrifying experience this would have been for a young lad.

Griff nodded. ‘But I caught my foot on some rocks under the surface – rocks we couldn’t see from up high. The pain was excruciating. I heard myself cry out, but I had no sense of actually doing it. The waves were knocking me about, the cold had hit my system, and I’d lost my bearings. The last thing I remembered was thinking it’s all my fault.’ He tipped back his head and stared at the ceiling. ‘I’m told the coastguard arrived within minutes of the call going out.’

‘And they got you to safety quickly?’

His eyes returned to Evie. ‘So the others said. I was unconscious.’

‘Do you know what happened to Kieran?’ Evie steadied herself, waiting for the reply.

‘I guess he must’ve hit the same rocks. Went straight under. He just … disappeared. The coastguard found his body washed up further along the shore.’

‘Oh, Griff, I’m so sorry.’ What else could Evie add? There were no words meaningful enough to express the sorrow and anguish she felt for Griff. She could show him by enclosing him in her arms, but she’d given up the right to hold him.

Griff cleared his throat and continued. ‘From that point on I vowed to do everything in my power to save lives. I finally understood my father’s relentless pursuit in doing the same.’

The loss of his young friend was the start of Griff’s road to adulthood. It explained his unremitting motivation and dedication to saving lives, and Evie loved him for that, but as sad and as devastating as it was, Kieran’s death was an accident. Marilyn’s wasn’t. Not when it came to the crunch. The woman had maintained control of what was left of her destiny and had chosen to live her final days in peace.

It concerned Evie that Griff couldn’t see that. He was a man who valued self-ownership. The only conclusion she could reach was that Kieran’s death and Griff’s belief he was to blame for it had clouded, possibly even blindfolded Griff’s judgement. He needed someone to take his hand and show him the way.

She’d given up that right, too, but she had to try.

She stood and took a tentative step towards him. ‘It was different with Marilyn,’ she began. ‘When it came to your mum—’

‘Dad let her down. He was a hypocrite. He set aside everything he believed in. He abandoned his faith in science, in progress, and in the possibility the smallest change could turn things around.’ Griff’s lip curled in obvious disapproval. ‘He’d let me down, too. He couldn’t be bothered to fight for Mum. He was taking the easy way out.’

Evie recoiled and retook her seat. It was clear Griff wasn’t ready to be led from the fog.

‘I remember standing here, on the threshold,’ he said, pointing at the door, ‘staring at Mum, thinking how she’d never turned her back on us, when Dad put his hand on my shoulder and said letting her go wasn’t what he wanted either. He’d always thought of Mum as immortal. They’d built their lives around him going first. Then he explained how ill the chemotherapy made her, and how that had influenced her decision. It was what she wanted. According to him, I’d only seen her on good days and that particular day was the best she’d been all week. I was shaken to the core.’

‘So you started to come round to their way of thinking?’

Evie’s question scored her an iron-laden scowl, which was quickly replaced with an expression of hurt.

‘You don’t know me at all.’ Griff left his chair, and patted his leg, gaining Ozzy’s attention. ‘It made me realise we should be doing more to help Mum, not less. Not nothing.’

Flinching at the pile-driven stomps Griff took towards the front door, Evie shifted in her seat and watched as her husband reached the coat stand. He snatched at Ozzy’s lead, lassoing Tess’s hat in the process, sending it skimming across the polished floorboards.

‘Not again.’ Griff stretched for the beanie and hoopla-ed it onto the hook. ‘When I told Dad I’d help, that I wouldn’t sit by and watch my mother die, that I’d do whatever it took to show her the value of her life and how much better we were with her in the world, he shook his head and told me it wasn’t for me to get involved. It was between a husband and wife, and together they’d made their peace. Nothing I could say or do would change their minds, and if all I was going to do was challenge their decision, then it was best I kept away. They didn’t need me.’ He attached the lead to Ozzy. ‘Just like you don’t.’

As Griff opened the door, Evie sprung to her feet, desperate to speak, but cautious of the words to use. She needed Griff, but the past fifteen minutes had told her more about the man she loved than she’d learned in the last three years. And now she understood the reasons behind his and Logan’s rift, she was convinced the father-son bond would be ripped to shreds should Griff find out about Logan’s request. This was a far worse mess than she’d anticipated. For every day she delayed giving Logan an answer, she moved further away from the man she adored; the man who’d rescued her and shown her the beauty of true love.

‘Griff …’ She wavered, her conscience quashing her impulse to confess. Logan was relying on her discretion and compassion, but that extended to Griff, too. If she told him what was going on, it would be the end of them. All of them. She just needed a little more time to sort things out. There was a chance Griff never needed to know. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, bowing her head. ‘I don’t know what else to say.’

She should have said I love you, I want you home, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, but she’d travelled too far down Logan’s path to see a way back.

‘The truth would be good.’ Griff’s expectant silence was filled with a yap from Ozzy. ‘In the car, boy, you’re coming home with me.’ He followed the dog onto the gravel, and stopped beside his vehicle. ‘I’ll collect his things tomorrow when I see Dylan. It’s probably best that you and I don’t cross paths. I’ll wait in the Land Rover until you leave for Dad’s.’ He paused. ‘Because you will. Helping him somehow validates you as a person. It shouldn’t.’ Griff scuffed his foot through the golden stones leaving an arc of bare soil. ‘I love you for who you are, not what you do.’

He threw his hand up in what Evie considered a gesture of resignation, bundled Ozzy into the back of the car, and took his seat in the front.

Without a second glance he drove away.