Andrea paused at the door and, one hand on the handle, looked back at Primrose. Our daughter was already asleep, exhausted by the trauma of the past few days. Andrea left the room, quietly closing the door behind her.
I sat on the floor by the bed, pretending to stroke Prim’s hair and her back, almost believing I could feel her as I whispered words of comfort, hoping that somehow my words—or at least the sentiment behind them—would get through. Pretty soon, she was giving out tiny snores, but I stayed with her, continuing to whisper, telling her over and over again how much I loved her and that she shouldn’t be afraid, Daddy was okay and he was with her even though she could not see him. At one stage, her eyelids flickered and she murmured “Daddy”, but she was quickly away again, fast asleep, slowly and unknowingly coming to terms with my death. One day at a time, I told her. It will eventually become all right. You’ll always miss me, I hope, but the hurt will lessen and eventually fade. Never completely, but enough for you to carry on with your own life without this debilitating heartache. God, I loved her so much, and the thought of what I was losing almost tore me apart.
Although I wasn’t tired myself, I closed my eyes, content just to be with her for a while. Eventually, her chest rose and sank rhythmically and her grasp on Snowy loosened as she fell into a deeper sleep. I opened my eyes and looked out the window: it was getting dark outside.
Rising from the bedside and giving Prim one last simulated kiss, I went to the door and passed through it. There was that fleeting and odd moment of seeping through thin air and atoms (did I actually pass through the air between the atoms? I briefly wondered, remembering that nothing in this world of ours—of yours—is truly solid. Maybe that’s the secret of insubstantial ghosts walking through apparently substantial walls or doors), the sensation of being part of the door itself, then I was on the landing outside my daughter’s bedroom. I could hear the low tones of voices below, the sound indicating that most of the guests had left. Silence followed, then voices again. One was Andrea’s. I walked along the landing and turned the bend leading to the stairs. Rather than glide, I took the stairs one at a time, as if my life was normal and I had just finished reading Prim a bedtime story, ready for a vodka tonic, or perhaps a brandy, before dinner. That would have been nice. That would have been so nice. But that wasn’t the reality. No, surprise, shock, dismay and misery were the reality. My past life had not quite done with me.
They were kissing. Andrea and Oliver were in each other’s arms and they were kissing.
I froze there and gaped.
It wasn’t a kiss of condolence. It wasn’t a platonic kiss between old friends. It was a ravenous, lustful kind of kiss. The tongue-swallowing kind. The kind Andrea and I hadn’t shared for the last three or four years.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I stared through the open door into the lounge and my knees almost gave way. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. My wife and my best friend. With me hardly dead five minutes. Was I crazy? Had my loss of body at last driven me crazy? It couldn’t be true.
They broke apart and it was only small consolation that Andrea was doing the pushing.
“No, we can’t,” she said breathlessly. “It isn’t right. Not so soon.”
Isn’t right? Not so soon? What the hell was she saying? It was… it was obscene!
“I’m sorry, Andrea.” He wouldn’t release his grip on her though. “I couldn’t wait any longer. It’s been such a rough few days.”
“How the bloody hell do you think it’s been for me?” she shouted back. “I never… I never wanted anything like this.”
His voice was anxious, but relatively calm compared to Andrea’s. Still he did not let her go.
She put her hands against his chest. “I loved him, Oliver. You must understand that. I still loved him.” There was a slight catch in her throat.
“Yes, I know.” He was looking intensely into her eyes. “But it wasn’t the same. It was never the way it is with us. Even when you first went to Jim, you still loved me.”
He tried to pull her close again, but Andrea resisted. I wished she’d resisted a few minutes ago.
“Primrose might come down,” she told him, her efforts to break away feeble.
“She’s dead to the world. Sorry, shouldn’t have put it that way. But the poor little mite is exhausted. She’ll sleep through the night if you’ll let her.”
Finally, Andrea did manage to free herself. Oliver attempted to grab her back.
“No!” This time her objection was fierce and Oliver took a pace backwards.
“All right, Andrea.” He kept his voice low, as if he might really wake Primrose. “It’s just been difficult keeping away from you when you’re going through so much.”
“How ironic is that?” She spat out the words contemptuously, but I knew they were directed at herself as much as my so-called friend. “What we’re doing is disgusting.”
Well, I went along with her there.
“You don’t mean it, Andrea. Just because he died in such a terrible way doesn’t mean what we have isn’t right.”
Isn’t right? He thought cheating on me was right? Before, I hadn’t believed my own eyes; now I couldn’t believe my ears. This hypocritical, two-timing bastard was justifying their treachery.
“But…”
He shook his head to stop her saying any more. “You needed me a few moments ago. Those were your true feelings, Andrea.”
“I need you now, but that’s not the point. It’s too soon, it’s too wrong.”
“How long do I have to wait?”
“I… I don’t know, Oliver. We have to give it time. We have to think of Primrose too.”
“And our friends? Your mother and father? His dreadful mother?”
My dreadful mother? Only I had the right to call her that.
“We have to do the proper thing for now.”
“You never stopped loving me, did you?” His eyes were wide, eyebrows raised. That old Oliver little-boy-lost look. Never failed. I’d seen him use it on men as well as women so many times, albeit in different circumstances. Had I ever honestly liked him?
“We shouldn’t even be discussing it. He was your best friend—don’t you feel any guilt?”
“Of course I do! I always have!” He was angry too. “But you should never have left me in the first place. You used Jim against me.”
“Of course I didn’t! How can you say that?” Andrea glanced towards the staircase as if afraid her raised voice had roused our daughter. For a moment, she seemed to be looking directly at me.
Then the doorbell rang, making all three of us jump.
Andrea opened the front door. On the doorstep stood DS Simmons and DC Coates. They must have followed the funeral cars back to the house, waiting outside until they thought everybody had left.
The taller of the two, Simmons, appeared to be spokesman. “Sorry to bother you on this sad occasion, Mrs True, but is Mr Oliver Guinane still with you? We’ve been waiting some time for him to leave so that we didn’t need to disturb you.”
Andrea looked behind her, her mouth open in surprise. Oliver was standing in the doorway of the lounge and only a few feet away from me.
“It’s all right, Andrea,” he said, “leave this to me.” His voice was calm, but I couldn’t help noticing there was an edge to it. Natural enough, I suppose, when two unfriendly-looking policemen confront you. “Can I help you?” he asked politely. Now I noticed how pale his face was.
“Yes, Sir. Detective Sergeant Simmons and Detective Constable Coates—we met you at the hotel on Monday.”
“Of course.” Oliver nodded to them both.
“May we come in?” Simmons asked Andrea courteously.
She hesitated, but only for a moment “I… I suppose so. My daughter is asleep upstairs.”