Chapter 8

I was seventy-one when the second M.I. hit me. The treatment was the same although the site of the problem was not the same. Again, the doctors talked long and often about lifestyle, yet at the end of these discussions, they concluded that my arteries were susceptible to weakness. These attacks kill a little of the heart muscle, so you cannot ask too much of the remaining healthy muscle. Although the doctors had not said as such, I was sure that another would finish me. I had to admit to myself that my life was in a delicate situation although I didn't say anything to Jean or Samira. I walked whenever the weather was clement but my gait was now slower, also I found when walking that a straight line was now an achievement. It wasn't as if I was walking like a drunk, I just found it most difficult to walk for a ten yards without veering to the right or left. My life was now a pattern of taking my gentle exercise, eating the healthy but boring food that Jean prepared for me. The highlight was the evenings when Samira was back from chambers. She always had juicy gossip to share and we would discuss the cases on which she was working. It kept my mind alive. I still drove the car from time to time, but had to have Samira with me. She had learned to drive some years ago because of her burgeoning practice and she was with me just in case. She rarely wore hijab now, dressing instead for work in dark suits with a white blouse buttoned up to the neck and a skirt that came down almost to her ankles. At home she would wear big sweaters and jeans. The solemn Muslim woman had gone now and she would laugh as she described herself as a liberated Muslim. She caused a great deal of laughter one evening, when she announced that she had given up on me. "All these years of lusting after you have been wasted. If I managed to get in your bed, Clem. I would probably kill you with my demands."

The chest pains are becoming difficult to hide now. I don't like them but I am not afraid. Should the big one hit me I have made up my mind to let it take me. I don't need another operation and the half-life that I would have to endure afterwards. I am seventy-six and reason that I have not done too badly. I regret many things and feel happiness for more than I regret, although Ramsay does loom large in my regrets. My Will is updated, the house will go to into a Trust and Jean will receive an income from the trust. The trust will maintain the property. I am quite sure when her time comes the house will pass to Samira, who it seems is living here full time. When that happened I am not really sure, but I couldn't complain, as she has been a good friend to Jean and companion to me. Of course, one of my regrets is that Samira is living a life unfulfilled. I could have changed that by denying the vow I made to Chrissie but that was something I couldn't do. Making sure that Samira will have something is my way of making it up to her.

Afterword One - Jean

It is now three months since Clem died and it is time. Samira and I are going to carry out his last wishes. We have two caskets of ashes, the one has been on a shelf in the sitting room for nearly twenty years, and it is made of walnut and inlaid with ivory befitting Clem's love for Chrissie. The second casket is very plain and utilitarian. This second casket contains Clem's ashes. Samira holds the second casket and I pick up the ornate casket from the shelf. The table had been cleared and covered with plastic. We opened both caskets. Their ashes, similar to grey granules were packaged in plastic bags. We opened the bags and poured the contents into the ornate casket. We then mixed the granules so that Clem and Chrissie were indivisible, as they had been in life. I wondered for a moment if handling the ashes of the dead would be forbidden for Samira; if it was, she showed no distaste. "Tomorrow?" Enquired Samira.

"Yes. The weather forecast seems right. We shall take Chrissie and Clem one last journey in their beautiful Rover. I think they would like that. Will you be ok driving it?"

"It shouldn't be a problem, I have driven it before and it being automatic helps."

These last three months have been fraught with grief and memories. Samira and I had tried hard to keep a positive face for those last couple of days. Clem knew he was dying and so did we. I made tasty snacks for him of which he would only eat a mouthful, declaring that it was delicious, but unable to stomach much. We were both by his bedside as his breathing became worse. His mouth was open and painfully dragging what little air his lungs could cope with. I talked endless rubbish, reminding him of the days when we were young and the silly things we did. Samira, fighting the tears would relate some of the amusing episodes of their court appearances. He was not talking anymore; he didn't have enough breath for that, except right at the last he gasped. "I can see her, she's smiling and waving." Then he collapsed like a punctured balloon, one last breath of anguish and he was gone.

We knew what Clem's Will said, he had told us everything, although I was astonished when the solicitor filed the probate. He had amassed quite a goodly sum. The Trust was accepted by the Inland Revenue. According to the solicitor, they couldn't find any loophole to exploit. Well you would expect a barrister, a legal authority to dot every 'i' and cross every 't'. Samira asked me if I was going to move from my room over the garage to one of the proper bedrooms. There were four bedrooms plus the garage room I occupied and three bathrooms. One was ensuite to Chrissie and Clem's bedroom. I thought about it and decided against moving. I had lived here for the last twenty odd years and had made it comfortable, why change?

I spent quite some time going through the closets and drawers in Clem's room. His suits would go to charity after being cleaned. There were ten of them, all dark charcoal in colour. His shirts were mostly white some with collars and many tailored to accept a wing tip collar. This task wasn't too demanding until I pulled open one of the large drawers. There laid folded and tidy were pillow slips, sheets and finally a christening shawl, all yellowed with age. They were all of Egyptian cotton and embroidered by hand. I knew immediately that the embroidery was done by Chrissie's hand. Each item had in the bottom left corner the embroidered two 'C's. They were linked with the second 'C' being lower with the top of the loop crossing over the bottom of the loop of the first 'C'. That was the second time in my life that I wept. The first was when my mother died and now this. This was how Chrissie had employed her time as she waited for Clem to finalize his studies. Sewn into these items were all her hopes of a long life with Clem and the children they would have together.

Many of our family believed that I had been in love with Clem for years. Despite my explanation of the situation, they stayed fast to their belief. I did love Clem, but more as a sister than lover. Our families had lived close to each other. As children we played together. Although he was four years older than I was, we got along well. Nobody thought I would ever be married and I think that even Clem was a little surprised when I did. I was blessed with a most unfortunate appearance. Plain was a compliment considering that I described myself as ugly. A beaky nose often compared to a bird's and no chin to speak of didn't attract boys. When Mr. Herring swam away with a co-worker most people were surprised that it lasted as long as it did. I saw Clem often in those first years of being an abandoned wife. I saw Chrissie more as she was the receptionist at the Doctor's surgery I attended. It was Chrissie who asked me to look after Clem. "If anything happens to me." That was before that disgusting excuse of a man, Ramsay Marston, destroyed her life. I knew that Clem had only agreed to Ramsay being hurt when he spoke with Brian Hathaway. However I wished that Ramsay would die painfully. He was a predator. I was one of his victims when I was sixteen. He didn't rape me, but he would have if Auntie Mag had not interrupted him. That is why Auntie Mag was so angry with my uncle. She knew what Ramsay was, but his father would never hear a word spoken against him. Wastrel, unprincipled, predator, lecher. Ramsay was all of these and he blighted all our lives.