Dear Sophie,
It’s five o’clock on Friday and you’ve just told me you can’t come over. (No kisses at the end of your text—yes, I noticed.) That’s okay—I wanted to see you one last time but it doesn’t matter. I’m putting this in the post with a second-class stamp so you’ll get it next week, by which time I’m sure you’ll have heard the news.
Anyway, I’m really sorry to do this to you, but life just doesn’t seem worth living anymore. I love you so much, Sophie, but I know you don’t love me. Nor do you deserve to be stuck with someone you’ve stopped loving, just because you feel sorry for them. I bet the last couple weeks have been a lot more fun, haven’t they? I’m not saying that in a sarcastic way, either. It’s a genuine question.
I love you.
I really love you, Sophie. You have no idea how much. Sorry if me doing this makes you feel sad—you’ll get over it in no time. And no need to feel guilty either. Don’t let what’s about to happen spoil your life—you don’t deserve that. I want you to be happy again. Sorry about the whole baby thing too. When the time comes, you’ll meet someone else and have beautiful babies.
Right, enough. You’re probably bored with reading this now, if you’ve even gotten this far. (I know, why do suicide notes always have to be so depressing?)
Anyway, good-bye. I love you too much to want to carry on without you in my life.
Be happy, Sophie. Sorry again.
All my love,
Theo xxxxxx
She hadn’t read the whole letter; skimming through the contents had been enough. After that, everything was a blur. She had no memory of doing it, but she had somehow managed to drive—still in her nightdress—across Birmingham to Theo’s house.
The front-door key, thank goodness, was still on her key chain.
She vaguely remembered her hands shaking so badly it had taken several goes to unlock the door.
And there he’d been, up in the bedroom, on the bed. Theo, whom she’d loved with all her heart. Waxy skinned and with his eyes closed, deeply unconscious but still breathing. Just about.
There were empty pill bottles on the bedside table. She called for an ambulance. It arrived…and police. The paramedics worked on Theo until he was in a stable enough condition to be moved, then whisked him off to Queen Elizabeth Hospital. No one could say what the prognosis was; it might already be too late to save him. This had been no cry for help; Theo had planned not to be rescued in time. He’d undoubtedly wanted to die.
If the second-class letter had arrived when he’d meant it to, he would have been dead long before he was found.
And it could still happen.
The second letter had been almost worse than the first. In the minutes before the ambulance arrived, Sophie had spotted the sheet of paper on the same table as the pill bottles. It was folded in two and had her name handwritten on the front.
Inside, it said:
Hi again, darling,
Had second thoughts after posting that letter. Thought I might walk over and wait for you to finish work. But it turns out you weren’t there after all. So I came over to your flat just before midnight. No reply when I rang your bell, but I could hear the noise from the party going on on the first floor.
Then I saw you, through the window. At the party, laughing and dancing without a care in the world. The music was Beyoncé singing “All the Single Ladies.” Which was appropriate. If you’d looked out of the window, you’d have seen me standing outside on the pavement. But you didn’t. Never mind. I’m glad you were having fun.
Txxx
Sophie felt sick. Theo might not have said it in so many words, but the implication was that she might just as well have picked up a knife and stabbed him through the heart.
Oh God, please don’t let him die…
***
Time had become meaningless. For the next hundred or so hours, day blended into night as Sophie haunted the ward, the waiting room, and the corridors of Queen Elizabeth Hospital.
Theo was comatose in the intensive care unit, unresponsive and with his life hanging in the balance. Organ failure was a possibility. So was neurological damage. The doctors warned her that even if he survived, he might wake up and no longer be recognizably himself.
Guilt and terror had her in their grip; she was trapped in a clammy spiral of fear. The medical staff was treating her like Theo’s wife, but they knew the truth. It was all there in his medical notes. They were being wonderfully kind and sympathetic toward her, but what were they saying to each other behind her back? Did they despise her? Were they gossiping and speculating over what she might have said or done to Theo to make him that desperate to end his life?
And yes, she’d explained the circumstances to the doctor who’d asked her, and he’d written them down too, but did anyone actually believe her, or did they secretly assume she must have done something terrible to provoke him?
On the third evening, one of the ICU nurses came over to her table in the cafeteria and said, “Hi, I’ve finished with my magazine. Do you want to read it?”
“Thanks.” Sophie was touched by the kind gesture, even if she wasn’t sure she could concentrate on reading anything. But when the nurse had left the cafeteria and she looked at the cover of the magazine on the table, certain bright red words leaped out at her:
ME AND MY NEW MAN JUST WANT TO BE HAPPY BUT MY HUSBAND WON’T LET ME GO!
Was it a coincidence, or was the nurse making some kind of point, silently letting her know that they knew? Even though they didn’t, because there was no other man.
***
On Wednesday evening, the first signs of recovery became apparent. By Thursday morning, Theo was beginning to regain some sort of consciousness. Pain caused him to react irritably. Slowly his eyes began to open for short periods. Calling his name elicited a brief response, as did squeezing his hand and asking him to squeeze in return. The hospital staff was cautiously optimistic but continued to warn Sophie that brain damage could be a possibility.
Racked with guilt, she had already silently vowed that if Theo was brain damaged, she would devote the rest of her life to looking after him. Simply because her conscience wouldn’t allow her to do anything else.
But by Friday, the prognosis—thankfully—was becoming brighter. Having been persuaded by the medical staff that he was out of danger, Sophie spent the night at home. Physically and mentally exhausted, for the first time in almost a week, she actually managed a full night’s sleep.
Arriving back at the hospital the next morning, she bumped into one of the doctors, a cheerful Aussie, as he was coming off duty.
“You wait till you see him,” he told Sophie with a broad grin. “You won’t believe the difference. It’s like someone flicked a switch and he’s back.”
Oh, thank God. Thank God for that. As the doctor headed off down the corridor, Sophie held her emotions in check for as long as it took to duck into the nearest ladies’ and lock herself inside a cubicle.
Then she burst into tears of relief—more tears than she’d known she possessed. Theo was going to be all right. It was like facing a death sentence, then being reprieved at the very last minute. No longer would she have to bear the unendurable guilt. From now on, she would do whatever Theo wanted her to do. If he preferred to take things slowly, fine. But if he wanted her to move back into the house with him…well, that was fine too. They could resume the marriage where it had left off. Anything, anything that meant she no longer had to feel that terrible weight of guilt.
Entering the ICU, she paused at the sink as always to thoroughly scrub her hands. There was Theo; she could see him from here, sitting up in bed, talking to one of the nurses. She was laughing at something he’d just said. Oh wow, they were having a completely normal conversation. Sophie’s heart turned over as she dried her hands. She was going to walk over there and greet him as if everything was fine, as if she’d never moved out, as if nothing had ever happened…
The next moment the nurse spotted her and said something to Theo. He turned his head to watch as Sophie approached the bed. Her shoes clicked against the polished floor. It felt as if all the staff on the ward had fallen silent.
Her arms were already half outstretched when she realized that Theo wasn’t smiling. In fact, he was slowly shaking his head. As she drew to an awkward halt, he said, “No, no. What are you doing here? I don’t want to see you.”
“What?” She felt sick; it was bad enough that all the nurses were watching. Thank goodness the rest of the patients were unconscious. “But, Theo, I’m here because—”
“Don’t care.” He shook his head again. “Not interested. I don’t need your sympathy.” Turning to the nurse on the other side of the bed, he said, “Get her out of here.”
“Okay, calm down.” The plump nurse rested a soothing hand on his shoulder. “But she was worried about you. She’s been here every day since you were brought in.”
“I don’t care. I wasn’t awake then. I couldn’t stop her.” The disdain in Theo’s eyes and the flat tone of his voice was chilling. “But I am now, and I want her to go.”
“Sorry, dear.” The nurse’s eyebrows signaled to Sophie to do as he said.
“And don’t come back,” Theo called after her, his voice rising as she made her way back down the ward that suddenly seemed a mile long. “I never want to see you again. Ever.”