Chapter 6

It was obvious to me that Chrissie had relapsed into depression. Dr. Purvess had anticipated this could happen and told me to increase her medication if necessary. We did but she did not seem to improve. I did my best to show her that what had happened did not change my love for her. I knew that she would not want physical love for some time, but in all ways, I tried to show her that I still desired her holding her hand, kissing and holding her close when we were in bed together. She responded happily to my kisses yet wouldn't let me touch her intimately. I could live with a celibate marriage as long as Chrissie felt comfortable, if that is what it takes to keep her with me. She was not eager to rise in the morning. For years, she had fought her depression but now she seemed to be giving in to it. There were many days when I came home from work to find her still in bed. I took as much time off from work as I could, balancing Chrissie's needs with my need to earn and support our lifestyle. My cousin Jean would visit Chrissie on some of the days that I couldn't be there. Her marriage had not lasted more than three years and she seemed happy to help. However, she could not fill the gap every day.

It was a Tuesday that I arrived home after a good day in court. This was the ultimate day of a case that had been in court for four days. Conspiracy to murder would be punished as severely as the actual murder. The accused had asked specifically for me, he seemed to view me as his lucky charm. Yes, it was Brian Hathaway. I enlisted Samira's help as my junior and we made a good case. The verdict of not guilty was relief for all three of us. I arrived home about five-thirty, early for me, but not nearly enough.

Having no Chrissie to welcome me home was not unusual. I sighed and started up the stairs knowing that I would probably find her in bed. She was in bed cold and lifeless! For minutes, I stood there unable to think, move or speak. Tears cascaded down my cheeks and dripped unchecked to my jacket. She was gone; the whole reason for my existence had gone. The hollow grip of loneliness tightened around my heart. That bastard! Ramsay my evil selfish brother. He had done this. He, who had never had the fulfilment of a long, loving relationship and envious of mine had stamped his moral vacuum over Chrissie and I.

I was eventually able to function and called Dr. Purvess. He examined her, and then he picked up the small packet of the drug she had taken. There was no doubt that Chrissie had committed suicide but I did not want that to be official. "Dr. Purvess, is there any way we can avoid suspicion of suicide?"

He thought for a moment. "I can write a death certificate with heart failure as the cause. To be honest, Mr. Marston I wanted to find a way. These pills," he held up the packet, "have been taken from the surgery's drugs cupboard. They are Diamorphine by the way. The number she has taken would have affected her very quickly. If there were an inquest, I would have to answer questions of how Mrs. Marston obtained these pills, and I could well be censured for sloppy management."

"I shall remember your kindness, Dr. Purvess." He wrote a death certificate of heart failure; thus avoiding the need for an inquest; in which all the details of her rape would be resurrected, her years of depression discussed followed by a verdict of suicide that would be unavoidable. The next few days were a blur. I may not have come through this but for the help of Melvin Askwith. He had retired but kept in touch and I was very thankful for his taking over and organizing everything. Chrissie and I had decided years ago that we wouldn't take up land space by being buried. So in accordance with her wishes she was cremated. When it was all done I came back to my empty house and Chrissie's small casket was placed where I would see it every day. When my time came, I would ask for my ashes to be mixed with Chrissie's and then scattered.

Working was something of a catharsis. I could step back from my emotions and deal sympathetically but unemotionally with the problems of others. I grabbed any brief I could and spent so much time in court that Mr. Justice Chandler was moved to comment one day. "It's so good to see you again Mr. Marston, again and again. Are there any other barristers in your chambers?"

Several months later Samira asked if she could have a talk at some time. We were working on a brief and I looked up. "We can take a break if you wish."

"No, Clem. It's a personal matter and I wouldn't wish to be interrupted."

I was somewhat surprised as she called me Clem, something she had never done. "Come in this evening, say six o' clock. Most of the others will be in the pub then." Barristers are called to the Bar, the legal bar, but many forget what bar that is. Drinking and the law seem to go together. Samira as a Muslim would never go to any place where alcohol was served.

I was packing up the papers of this latest brief when she came in. "Is now convenient, Clem?"

"Yes, Samira. Sit down." I said without looking up. When I did, I was shocked. Samira due to her Muslim tradition always wore voluminous black neck to foot clothes that did not reveal anything of her body shape. She also wore a scarf, the hijab around her neck and covering her head except for her face. The voluminous garment had gone although she still wore the hijab. She was dressed in a simple long smock, which conformed, to her body, proving that she was quite slim and very shapely. I did not remark on this revelation. "I won't be long, Samira."

She waited until I had tidied all the papers. She then took a big breath. "Clem, I was so sorry when I heard that Chrissie had died. From the things that others said you two were a perfect match."

"I thought so too, Samira. I still miss her painfully. Thank you for your sympathy."

"Clem, I know it is too soon but you will need a wife. I would ask you to consider me as wife to you. When you are ready of course."

I was flabbergasted. In fact, I thought I must have misheard. "Sorry, Samira. Did you just say that you would want to be my wife?"

"Yes, Clem. I will not find a husband amongst my people. At thirty-three, I am too old now. Muslim men want younger girls, besides I am too outspoken to be a Muslim wife; I know my own character and I could not marry any man I am unable to respect. You, Clem I do respect and I would be a good wife to you in every way and I know I would grow to love you."

I sat back in my chair thunderstruck. I was fifty-five and this lovely younger woman was offering marriage to me. I knew I would refuse, but just for a moment, I had pleasurable thoughts. "Samira, your offer is a great compliment. However as much as I would like to say yes, I cannot. Chrissie and I made vows when we married, to love and keep each other in sickness and in health for life. The actual words are 'as long as ye both shall live'. That did not mean for the duration of her life it means to me for the duration of my life. Even though Chrissie is dead, my promise remains. I will be faithful to Chrissie until I die. Then I know I shall be reunited with her and she will know that I remained faithful to her."

"Do I not please you, Clem?" She asked plaintively.

I knew she was referring her change of dress. "You are a very lovely young woman, Samira. I would be less than a man if I didn't find you pleasing. In addition, you do me honour by your dressing as you have. It is with sorrow that I cannot agree to your offer. I made a promise to Chrissie and myself. What is the worth of that promise if it can be discarded for convenience?"

Samira didn't show disappointment just a flicker of upset for my rejection. "Clem, I respect your fidelity, and would wish that some man would care for me as you care for Chrissie. If I remain unmarried, which I suspect will be the case and you feel differently as time goes on, please remember, my offer will stand."

She got up to leave. "I hope you don't think less of me now." She pleaded.

"Samira, I could never do that. You have proved yourself a loyal colleague and a friend. I look forward to working with you frequently."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I do too, Clem. Now, it's back to the tent." She laughed. A most musical of sounds.

I realised the point of her last remark when I was leaving. Samira was back in the black voluminous dress she habitually wore. "Goodnight, Samira."

"Goodnight, Clem." She looked around checking to see if we were alone. She stretched up and kissed me on the cheek. She was smiling as she said. "Now if my father saw that he would make certain that we married. If not he would have to kill me."

There were times in the next few weeks that I regretted my decision about Samira. It wasn't the lack of closeness that bothered me, although I have to admit that becoming intimate with Samira would be nothing less than wonderful. The reason was simple. I was useless at domestic tasks. Chrissie had always made sure that I had clean and ironed linen, that my suits were cleaned on a regular basis and were always pressed with creases where they should be and no creases where they shouldn't. I was also a complete ignoramus in the kitchen. My diet now was mainly take away meals, and that was not good for me. My problems were solved with an unexpected visit from my cousin Jean Herring. It was a Sunday and I was contemplating a steak which I seemed to have massacred, or was it intended to be like boot leather? The doorbell rang and throwing the offending piece of leather into the bin, I went to answer the door. It was my cousin Jean Herring. Jean marched in determinedly. "I'll make us a cup of tea then we'll talk about why I am here." She made for the kitchen as if she was a guided missile. She looked around at the utensils I had out and deduced that I was allegedly cooking my meal. Unerringly she found her way to the bin and picked up the sorry-looking steak. She sighed and looked at me, shrugging her shoulders. "Go sit down. I'll do the tea."

I did as I was bade and shortly Jean came in with the tea on a tray. She looked at me and her stern face softened. "I was devastated about Christine." She started. "I noticed that your father wasn't at the funeral and asked your mum. She told me all about it, and she is angry. It appears that your dad hasn't had a hot meal since the trial, nor a shirt ironed. She is sleeping in your old room now. Her thoughts are that he won't get a crumb of comfort until he apologises to you. You know your dad, Clem. Hell will freeze over first."

"Oh yes, Jean. I know my dad. However, it means little to me. I lost Chrissie and she meant more to me than anyone else. Losing her was like losing everything."

"That's how it should be, Clem. I know it surprised everyone when I got married, I mean look at me? I make the back of a bus look good. I shouldn't have been surprised when he ran off with that woman who was slightly less ugly than me."

"Jean..." I started.

"Don't go there, Clem. I know what comments are made about me. After all these years, I can ignore them easily. You were the one who studied and made something of yourself. You were the one who found the beautiful wife. You were the one who lived the good life happily with Christine. Now the fates have decided to pay you back, and it is so bloody unfair. "She paused for a moment, perhaps summoning sufficient courage to go on."Clem, you need someone to look after you. I need somewhere to live that isn't riddled with mice and spiders. That bed-sit is all I can afford after that bastard ran off and left me destitute. I am a good housekeeper, Clem. You'll have good healthy meals on time, the house will be spotless and your laundry will be clean and pressed. You have that little room over the garage. I'll move in there. I will not be a substitute wife, Clem. There will be no sex. I don't want to be paid I have a little income from capital my mother left to me. A roof over my head, meals and a purpose in life is all I want. What do you say?"