You Let Him In Read online

  ‘Mummy will always be here for you,’ I whisper. ‘You will always have Mummy.’

  I help Daniel down from the table and watch him run into the hallway.

  ‘You’ve done it now, I take it?’ Donna asks, holding out her arms. ‘That poor little boy. Come here and hug me, will you?’

  Aware that Daniel is safe in the living room with Peter, Donna walks through to the kitchen and wraps both of her arms around me. The build-up of emotion is overwhelming as I let go of the tears. Together we cry in each other’s arms – an understanding growing between us that in life there is death and that neither of us will ever get to see Michael again.

  ‘I can’t believe he is gone, Mum,’ I cry. ‘I can’t believe this has happened to us.’

  ‘We will get through this, I know we will,’ she replies. ‘You are our family and family stand by each other, no matter what. Michael loved you so much – I know he did, we all knew. I miss him so much.’

  ‘I don’t know what I will do without him,’ I say, letting go of her. ‘We had a row last night and I said some terrible things to his face. I keep hearing the last words I said to him over and over in my head.’

  I watch Donna frown at me, her solemn expression riddled with the grief of a mother who has lost her son. I know she is trying to hold her emotions together, as am I. We are connected in this grieving torment.

  ‘I’m sure Michael knew that you didn’t mean it,’ she replies. ‘Every married couple have their ups and downs, don’t they? Listen, Pete and I have been married for over thirty-five years and we still argue over petty little things at times. It’s normal. Michael adored his family – he wouldn’t hold it against you.’

  I don’t think she understands my guilt. I made some really hurtful comments.

  ‘Why was he at the Taverton Estate Hotel?’ Donna asks. ‘I don’t understand why he was there so late in the evening?’

  ‘It was a work thing,’ I reply, keeping it short. ‘He was there to meet a new client. I surprised him with a meal but he said he had to go because it was important. If he had stayed at home, then maybe he—’

  ‘Stop it,’ Donna interrupts. ‘We can’t change what’s happened. It’s a terrible accident. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this. I hope they find the bastard who left him for dead.’

  Donna sobs until the makeup runs down her face. Together we sit at the kitchen table, clutching our tissues and sharing memories of Michael. I can hear Daniel playing with Peter in the living room. His laughter makes me smile. Our son has no idea what has just happened in his life.

  The sound of the letterbox being knocked startles me – a reminder of the police presence last night. I called the family liaison officer Sharon Jenkins as they instructed who has kindly arranged a car to take us to identify Michael but it’s too early in the day so it cannot be her.

  ‘I’ll get it. Don’t worry about it,’ Peter says loudly from the other room. ‘It’s just the paperboy. I saw him walk past the window and put something through the door.’

  I listen as Peter starts talking to himself. I try to concentrate but only hear mutters like little whispers.

  ‘Something you might want to see?’ Peter asks, walking through to the kitchen and holding out the newspaper. ‘It’s made the local papers. You might want to read this?’

  I take the paper from Peter’s hands and lay it out on the table with the inside pages open to reveal the headline in all its gloomy glory.

  Taverton Estate Hotel Death

  My eyes are fixed on the article as I read the report on the tragedy. I see the local press haven’t named my husband but describe him as a male in his thirties and yet to be formally identified. I find it hurtful.

  Why couldn’t they just wait – or not publish it at all?

  Donna cannot look at the paper and moves away from the table while I scan further down the page. She wipes her nose with the tissue and leaves the room to allow me to sit on my own with my thoughts. Michael has barely been dead a day. I’m angry to read this and see it so soon. The reporter was covering a function at the hotel that same evening and was able to speak to the only witness, Gary Taylor, who gave a brief statement of what he saw.

  The car came to a halt after it hit him, but then dragged him even further down the road. I saw another man about six feet tall with a grey baseball cap, run from the vehicle in the direction of the fields behind the hotel. I ran in the direction of the man who was now partly trapped under the car. I held his hand while I called the ambulance and the police. He died in front of me. It was very sad and sudden. I offer my condolences to his family.

  I am saddened that in his final moments he died without his family around him.

  I sit in silence with my head lowered over the newspaper. Again, a flood of questions race through my mind. I walk into the living room to see Daniel sitting on Peter’s lap and holding a toy car. I fixate on it. It’s ironic that just such a vehicle killed his father. Donna sits in the chair by the window, staring out at the sky. The atmosphere is awkward as we try to hide our grief from Daniel.

  My eyes are heavy and tiredness is starting to set in. I look at the clock on the mantelpiece and I estimate that I have another hour before Sharon arrives. I sit on the sofa while Donna and Peter sit in opposite chairs. No one says a word but instead we all fix our eyes on Daniel who is playing on the living room floor with his cars.

  Daniel will never get to know his father.

  Seven

  Jenny

  The drive to the hospital in the back seat of the unmarked police car felt like hours even though in reality it was twenty minutes at most. I looked out of the window the whole journey in a world of my own, watching the scenery and passing cars. We stopped at the red lights leading up to the hospital, where I felt nauseous. Knowing I will come face to face with my husband again after his tragic death has me in floods of tears. I know I have to face him; it’s as though I need to do this if only to believe I am not trapped inside this nightmare.

  Was he thinking of us when he died: me, his son, his family?

  An hour ago, Sharon Jenkins was sipping the last drop of coffee from the mug I made her at our house after she formerly introduced herself as my family liaison officer. For a woman with such a compassionate and sensitive presence, I couldn’t help but fixate on how young she was in comparison to myself. I doubt that she could relate to having a deceased husband but I warmed to her northern accent because it reminded me of home. I miss my family. I need my parents.

  Peter refused to join us in our journey, instead deciding to stay home with Daniel. Both Donna and I have to face this moment together. I need to say how sorry I am. Michael will never hear my words but I need to say them all the same.

  The guilt I carry with me since Michael has died is troubling me. I’ve convinced myself that I am to blame. I shouldn’t have argued with him. The thought of him dying and hating me for what I said that night… I didn’t mean it. I can’t ever tell him how sorry I am.

  Donna sits next to me in the back of the car while Sharon drives up to the entrance of Westbridge General Hospital. We don’t speak but exchange looks. I grab hold of Donna’s hand while placing the damp tissues I hold into my jacket pocket. This memory, I know, will stay with me for the rest of my life.

  ‘This is it, Mum,’ I say to Donna, who looks at me nodding her head. ‘We have to stay strong. Michael wouldn’t want the fuss. You know what he’s like.’

  Donna wipes the tears from her eyes.

  ‘You’re right,’ Donna agrees with me. ‘He was such a character. I still can hardly believe it.’

  Sharon parks the car, unbuckles her belt and turns to face us both.

  ‘I will walk in with you and speak to the reception desk. Doctor Kaminski is expecting us, and you can both take as long as you need. I’ll be here, right beside you every step of the way. If at any time you want to leave, say the word.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I reply while Donna continues to nod her head. ‘I’ll let y
ou lead the way. Thanks, Sharon.’

  We all get out of the car. I take in a breath of air to calm myself and follow Sharon. Donna and I remain silent as we are led through to the reception area of the hospital. There are corridors and rooms around us, all interconnected so that I couldn’t tell you how we got here if I had to explain it – but Sharon leads us through the maze of hallways and doorways the whole time.

  ‘Doctor Kaminski is waiting for us all down the end of this final corridor,’ Sharon explains. ‘Once we get inside the room I will introduce you both and then ask if the deceased person is your husband, Michael Clifton – but only at the appropriate time. Remember that if you’re not comfortable, we don’t have to do this.’

  I walk towards the room with a feeling of emptiness. Being here seems surreal. I don’t really understand what is happening or what is expected of me. Sharon did explain the formalities but none of it registered. I keep agreeing without thinking. I am desperate to see my husband. My breathing is still erratic from the nervousness and I glance towards Donna who is in a state of despair with her own grief, shock and thoughts. For now, I have to focus on meeting Michael. Facing my husband while he will be displayed to me in a state of death is a thought I never imagined I’d be dealing with.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Sharon asks, her hand on the silver door handle. ‘This is the room if you both want to proceed?’

  Donna places a hand on my shoulder. I feel her rubbing it as a form of comfort. Can I do this. Would Michael want me to see him this way? I have last-minute doubts but I know I have to do this.

  ‘I’m ready,’ I respond. No more doubts. I breathe in another deep breath of air to calm my nerves. ‘I want to see my husband.’

  I’m here, Michael.

  The door opens to reveal gleaming white walls with scatters of blue seats and an office desk in the corner. It’s like stepping into any ordinary hospital waiting area. I glance at the cabinets against the far side of the wall. The shining steel doors all clearly numbered. In one of those is where Michael must be resting. I keep staring at the numbers, thinking that he is here, in one of them.

  I feel emotionally drained.

  ‘This is Doctor Kaminski,’ Sharon introduces us, ‘and this is Mrs Jenny Clifton and Michael’s mother, Mrs Donna Clifton.’

  The doctor shakes our hand. Her hair is short, dark with grey patches and tied up behind her ears tightly. I glance at her face for a moment before I acknowledge her. I look at how short she is – under five feet tall. I glance at Donna, who is nodding. I’ve assumed the constant nodding is a distraction from speaking.

  ‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ Kaminski says, now walking to the cabinets. ‘If you would both kindly follow me to the far end of the room.’

  Kaminski seems emotionless and formal. I remind myself that she must spend all of her working day around the deceased. She’s likely become accustomed to dealing with families and their grief.

  ‘I need to inform you that you will see some bruising and stitching on the body,’ says Kaminski. ‘We have covered most of him except for his face and left hand.’

  Now I am shaking head to toe but I’m not as distressed as I thought I’d be. I am a little overwhelmed. A sensation of dizziness swirls in my head.

  ‘Why his left hand?’ I ask. ‘How bad is the bruising?’

  ‘This is in case you want to hold his hand,’ Sharon says, taking a glance in Doctor Kaminski’s direction for assurance. ‘Some close family members like to hold the hands of their loved ones. In some cases this is the final goodbye. It’s a perfectly normal reaction to want to touch your loved ones.’

  Donna and I are stood side by side. I steer my gaze away from Sharon and the doctor to look at the numbers on the doors while the doctor grabs the handle on number five. In one quick swoop the door is opened to reveal the contents and all my eyes take in are the swollen feet and the white sheet covering what is a body beneath.

  ‘I’m going to pull back the cover to reveal his face,’ Doctor Kaminski explains. ‘Please be aware of the bruising and the stitches.’

  The doctor pulls away the cover to reveal the face. In that same moment, a rush of emotion overcomes my senses. Donna throws her hands to her face, while all I can do is stare, wide-eyed, and breathe heavily. The shock is hitting me as a sense of coldness snapping its way down my body. I tremble – but this man is my husband. This is Michael and for a few seconds I am unable to speak a word.

  Michael, I’m so sorry.

  ‘Mrs Clifton?’ Sharon asks. ‘Can you confirm to me that this is the identity of your husband, Mr Michael Clifton?’

  We both know the answer but I accept her formalities. I hear Donna sobbing behind me, unable to look at the body of her own son. I wasn’t expecting to wake from a terrible dream but on the way here there had been hopes in my heart that maybe it was someone else. A misunderstanding of some sort.

  ‘Yes,’ I respond. ‘Yes, this is Michael. My husband.’

  It is as though I am unable to take in this image all in one glance. I look at my husband’s face, realising it is swollen, black and blue with serious bruising. His eyes are shut and with stitching underneath them. I recognise him clearly to be Michael.

  How did this happen?

  I move closer to touch his left hand. I daren’t move any of the sheets to reveal further injuries. The coldness of his temperature surprises me. He remains eerily still – and I realise something isn’t right.

  It’s missing!

  ‘Where is his wedding ring?’ I ask. ‘He’s not wearing it. Did it get taken off for safety?’

  ‘He was not wearing any jewellery on his fingers.’ Sharon hesitates, then shrugs her shoulders. ‘All of his belongings have been bagged up. His clothing and a designer watch we have logged have all been returned to you.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have taken it off,’ I say, still confused. ‘We are married. It’s never left his hand since the day we…’

  Donna moves closer to comfort me.

  ‘Maybe it was the accident.’ Donna said. ‘It might have come away.’

  ‘Maybe… I need to find out,’ I reply, trying to grasp at every little detail. ‘I know he would never ever have taken that ring off his finger.’

  I remember when we both had our rings engraved with the date of our wedding on them. I know he would never remove it. I glance down towards my own wedding ring, rubbing it to remind myself of that moment. He was always full of surprises. On our wedding day he left me a series of notes, like a treasure hunt, but each note contained one of his favourite memories of us together attached with a little heart-shaped chocolate. The final note was taped to a whole boxful. ‘Together forever’ that last note said.

  ‘If no one has found the ring,’ I reply, ‘it must have come off somehow in the accident. Maybe someone will find it near the hotel and hand it in?’

  ‘I can ask some questions back at the station,’ Sharon states. It’s like she wants to shut me up. ‘But I am very much aware that the only items on him at the time of the accident were his watch, car keys, mobile phone and wallet.’

  I look back at Michael’s body. I’m surprised I’m not in floods of tears. His battered face is all bruised and scratched; he would have hated to be seen in such a terrible state. I’m holding it together better than I expected. I don’t want to ask any further questions but I can tell from the shape of Michael’s body that he must have been crushed to death.

  ‘Would you like some time alone with him?’ Doctor Kaminski asks. ‘I can leave the room for a few minutes if you both want some privacy?’

  I take a look at Donna who is shaking her head and for once I agree with her.

  ‘This is not how I want to remember my husband,’ I reply. ‘I don’t need any more time. I have identified him, and I would really like to leave now. Daniel will be wondering where I am.’

  I turn away from everyone and close my eyes as I hear the slam of the chamber that contains Michael’s body. The lack of his wedding ring still
bothers me but I will try to hunt for it in his car or near the hotel grounds. My gut feeling is that I can’t see why Michael would have removed it. He wouldn’t have had any need.

  Donna and I follow Sharon back out into the corridor.

  ‘I appreciate this must have been very difficult but thank you for identifying your husband.’ Sharon says and she too seems relieved this is over. ‘It’s a brave and emotional thing to have to do, so thank you. When you’re ready I can drive you both back home?’

  We leave the hospital in silence as we arrived. Sharon seems quite kind with her responses but I know that she has to be impartial. I wasn’t expecting her to be full of emotion because this is her job. The police have to deal with this sort of occurrence quite regularly but it all seems so clinical – like Michael is an object.

  On returning to the car, Donna sobs continuously while I keep my focus, staring straight ahead. All I want to do now is return home to Daniel. Our little boy will need me more than ever.

  We have so much to organise. I don’t know how we are going to face the next few weeks.

  Eight

  Jenny

  No matter how many times I tried to put them both off visiting, Samantha and Lizzie would not take no for an answer: first the Facebook messages, then a text message, followed by a series of voicemails. I’m not ready for visitors but I’ve tried to make an effort to look presentable by having a shower and throwing on some clean clothes. They heard about Michael’s death thanks to an announcement about my absence from work. I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to visit the office myself so I made one short phone call. I do appreciate their concern. They’ll be here any minute. I understand that they are worried about me, as I would them in similar circumstances, but I’m hoping the visit will only be for an hour or so.

  They were having none of it when I tried to postpone it. I’m not even sure how I am going to react when I see them. It’s not been all that long since I was last at work but my life has changed so much. Practically overnight.