Sophie phoned each day to ask after Jonah, requesting each time that she be contacted if there was any improvement. But improvement there was not. And improvement there was never likely to be. She was plagued constantly by memories of his last sentient moments, those last slurred cries for the pain to stop. And Sam’s reassurances helped not a jot.
‘It’s been over two weeks and he’s not got any worse. And last time he recovered.’
‘Soph, it’s not the same as before. You have to stop blaming yourself.’
She chewed her lip. ‘I spoke to Rosemary earlier. She doesn’t seem to be suffering any kind of remorse at all. She said she’s thinking of nipping over to tell his mother that her son is being punished for his sins and is on his way to Hell.’
Sam furrowed his brow. ‘Jonah’s mother’s still alive?’
‘Yes, well… she was last summer. She’s in a home. I think she has dementia. Jonah used to go sit with her every Sunday when he was in Exeter.’
‘You never mentioned that before.’
‘Rosemary told me. When we visited her that time.’
‘And he visited her every Sunday?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Well, perhaps he stashed something with his mother. I wouldn’t put it past him. I’ll find out where she is. Don’t tell Rosemary, but I think it’s time Jonah’s mother was introduced to her youngest granddaughter.’
The trip to Devon was less arduous on a drizzly January Sunday than it had been in the glaring sunshine last August. They took the time to have lunch at their favourite Topsham Hotel and then, mid-afternoon, drove to Snowberry Residential Care Home, where they were escorted past vases of petrol-station chrysanthemums to Laura Perrin’s room. Her priest was just folding his stole and crucifix into his case, as the care assistant knocked and stepped inside, so it was a very righteous and forgiven elderly woman that scowled up at them as they were introduced: Sophie as the mother of Robert’s youngest daughter and Sam as her partner. Father Leary left without much attempt at communication. Clearly the two tainted heathens that carried poor Mrs Perrin’s illegitimate grandchild into the room were not worthy of conversation. Laura Perrin senior fixed her eyes on her granddaughter and crossed herself. Undeterred, Sophie attempted to apologise about not having visited before, and communicated Rosemary’s best wishes.
‘Whore!’ exclaimed Mrs Perrin.
Uncertain as to which whore she was referring, Sophie continued with her attempts at conversation, whilst Laura wriggled in her pushchair and Sam scanned the spartan decor: no books, a plain wooden box on top of a chest of drawers, a large family bible on the bedside cabinet, a demanding wooden cross on the wall above the bed, a faded print of Holman Hunt’s Light of the World hanging next to the window and a single coat hanging on the back of the door. Then, all at once, as if she was alone in the room, Mrs Perrin got up from her chair and shuffled away into her bathroom.
‘You can see where Jonah learned his pleasantries,’ said Sam, quickly checking the drawer of the bedside cabinet and the cupboard beneath. He opened the bible, checked its binding then hurried over to investigate the wooden box. It opened easily to reveal no contents whatsoever. He turned his attention to the two large drawers, rooted around in the top drawer, lifted a few things, closed it, opened the bottom drawer and felt around beneath the clothing.
‘Sam, hurry up! What if she comes back?’
He looked behind the chest of drawers, under the bed, lifted the curtains, checked in the coat pockets. ‘Nothing! I’ll ask the matron if she’s got anything stored elsewhere. For insurance purposes. I’ll show her a cop card if necessary.’ The toilet flushed.
‘Sam, she’s coming back!’
Sam hurried to stand next to the pushchair just as Jonah’s mother stepped back into the room. She looked at them in surprise.
‘Hello, are you visiting me? What day is it?’
Sophie glanced at Sam. ‘It’s Sunday. We’ve brought Laura to see you. She’s your granddaughter. Robert’s daughter.’
‘Robert’s daughter? I had a boy called Robert. But he died when he was little.’
‘Oh dear. That’s sad.’ Sophie glanced around for inspiration. ‘Do you have any photos of him? Photos of Robert? When he was little?’
Mrs Perrin stared at her blankly then shuffled over to her chair, sat down, reached under her pillow and pulled out a rusted biscuit tin with Royal Wedding Shortbread and a decades-old image of Charles and Diana on its lid. She lifted the tin onto her lap and, with her shaky yellow fingers, prised it open to reveal a few curled photos. But it was not the photos that caught Sam’s eye. It was the passport that was amongst them. Sophie noticed it too. She picked out a photo of two boys: dark eyebrows, dark hair, one of them obviously Jonah, although she wasn’t sure which. She held it towards the window and asked Jonah’s mother which of the boys was Robert. Mrs Perrin pushed the tin onto the bed and leaned over to take a closer look, providing Sam with the opportunity to nip behind her chair, lift the passport and slip it into his jacket pocket.
Mrs Perrin pointed over to the bathroom. ‘They were bad boys. The Lord had to punish them for their sins. He sent them into the cupboard and they never came out. I couldn’t find them anywhere.’
Sam caught Sophie’s attention and indicated the door. So, Sophie handed Mrs Perrin her photo, wished her goodbye and told Laura to wave. They left her waving back.
As they were signing out, the Matron-Manager stepped over to speak to them. ‘Going so soon? I hope she wasn’t rude to you. She has her good days and her bad days.’
‘This was one of her good days,’ said Sam. ‘We were wondering if you could help. The family have been searching for an old endowment policy but Mrs Perrin doesn’t seem to have any papers with her.’
‘As far as I know, her son keeps all her documentation. I gather that he’s been quite unwell lately.’
Sam waited until they were a safe distance from the Care Home before pulling into a layby to investigate the passport. He opened the data page, took a moment then handed it to Sophie. It was a more recent photo than the one on Robert Perrin’s driving licence, and this time the name alongside it was Brady and beneath that Anthony Patrick. Sophie handed it back and, as she did so, a small folded piece of paper fell out. Sam opened it. An alphanumeric reference was written across the fold, and beneath it, two long strings of numbers.
‘That can’t be what they’re looking for, can it?’ said Sophie.
‘I don’t think so. I think the top one’s a flight reference. The other two might be bank codes and account numbers. I’ll get them checked out.’ He sighed. ‘It’s not what I was hoping for but it’s something.’ He placed the passport back in his pocket and pulled away.
By the time he picked Sophie up the following day, Sam was able to reveal the next instalment in Jonah’s abortive plans. The booking reference was for a flight from Heathrow to Istanbul which had left on 11th August last year. The booking had been made some weeks before Jonah’s collision with his toolbox, for one person only and that person, a Mr Anthony Brady, had failed to make the flight.
‘There’s a possibility that Jonah rumbled the fact that he’d been found out and he was planning to make a dash for it. The passport’s issue date was early July. He must have paid his mother a quick visit and stashed it there where no one was likely to find it. The two other numbers are for a Spanish account with 1.2 million Euros and a Cayman Island account with just over two million dollars. Both accounts, held by Anthony Brady, have been active during the last two months. Seems he was still hoping to get away.’
‘So, back last summer, Jonah was leaving me, Rosemary and Suzie.’
‘Looks like it.’
‘And my TV and freezer were going to be Suzie’s consolation prize?’
‘Perhaps Suzie’s place was somewhere to lay low until Robert Perrin became Anthony Brady.’
Sophie shook her head. ‘Sam, don’t tell Suzie he was planning to leave without her.’
‘OK. Anyway, how did your antenatal go this morning?’
‘Fine.’
‘I’ll come with you next time. If you want… I mean, if that’s appropriate.’
‘OK.’ She tapped her lips slowly as she watched him drive.
He glanced round. ‘What?’
‘You must have thought I was a complete dope believing all those lies.’
Sam sighed. ‘Is this going to be a lengthy conversation?’
‘Not really.’ She opened her bag. ‘You carried on checking my house after we moved out, didn’t you? Going there and telling me you were going into uni.’
Another sigh. ‘Yes, particularly when it became obvious that Jonah had hidden something there.’ He pulled into the crèche car park and cut the engine. ‘I was just trying to protect you both.’
‘That was very considerate of you, Officer Barnes.’ She pulled out a small black and white photo and handed it to him.
Sam frowned. ‘What’s this?’
‘They scanned me today. They think I’m more pregnant than I calculated.’
Sam’s frown deepened. ‘I don’t know what I’m looking at.’ He pointed to a curved bit. ‘Is that a head?’
Sophie also pointed. ‘Yes, and that’s another one.’
Over the next three weeks Jonah’s condition at first failed to improve and then started to decline. Then a very ordinary nosocomial infection rapidly became a ventilator-associated pneumonia which exacerbated further strokes. Rosemary phoned Sophie on the Thursday of the third week to say that the hospital had contacted her for a decision about the continuation of life support and resuscitation if it became necessary. She was driving up the following day and would appreciate Sophie being with her when she visited Jonah for what was to be the last time. She had also asked Suzie to be there. So, that Friday, Sam accompanied Sophie to the Neurological Unit. Suzie and her mother were already there, waiting beside Zane. Rosemary had gone ahead into Jonah’s room to spend a few moments alone with her husband. Sophie could see her through the glass partition, looking down on her handiwork.
Dr Donovan arrived and escorted Sophie and Suzie in to join Rosemary at Jonah’s bedside. He made a much-practised statement about the absolute unlikelihood of recovery from what was essentially brain stem death and explained that, when the ventilator was turned off, Jonah would be unable to breath, oxygen would fail to reach his brain and heart and life would end. Suzie started to cry. Sophie put her arm around her. Rosemary turned to do the same and Sophie could see that she was also crying. She feared that she might be the only heartless one there. And then she felt tears running down her own cheeks and was grateful that if this had to be happening, she was sharing this dreadful situation with these two other women that Jonah had forced into her life.
As Jonah’s next of kin, it fell to Rosemary to hand the signed forms to Dr Donovan and ask him to proceed. It was a simple process: turning somebody’s life off like that. It took no effort at all. Dr Donovan told them to take all the time they needed and then left. The room became deathly quiet. The machinery that had been maintaining Jonah’s life was now silent. The monitor was still registering something, but the peaks were getting lower and further apart. Sophie waited for that long whine that always signified people flatlining in the movies but it didn’t happen. The monitor just slowly stopped recording anything.
Sophie looked at Jonah lying there, coming to an end, and felt an irrational desire to hear his voice one last time. But his voice was gone to Hell with the rest of him. They stood in silence for a while, the three of them just watching what remained of the man who had fathered their four children. Then, slowly, Rosemary stepped forward to stroke his hand. ‘So sorry, my love,’ she whispered, ‘but you gave me no choice.’ With that, she turned to leave. ‘Ladies,’ she said. ‘It’s time to move on.’
Robert Perrin’s cremation was a brief affair attended by just six adults, who, once the fine oak casket had been dispatched towards the incinerator, and instructions had been given for Jonah’s ashes to be strewn in the Memorial Garden, stepped out into the late-February sunshine and repaired to Carluccio’s for lunch and reminiscences. Late afternoon, with promises to stay in touch, they went their separate ways and Sophie was now free to tell Sam about the snatched-away glass, but she found it much easier to pretend that those few moments had never happened. And so, as summer drew near and life became gloriously routine, the guilt that Sophie feared might follow her to her grave slowly withered away.