(Many thanks to Dawnj, whose editing made this story into a real one! All typos etc. are mine. If you only want the bedroom bits, please turn to page 5.)
*
August may be a wicked month, but there's no month as unpredictable as November, nor as unpleasant at times; and that day the weather had steadily deteriorated. When she tried to open the back door she had to put all her weight against it; and even then it was quite a job. She was met by a blast of rain that came straight from the northeast. It was cold and wet with a hint of sleet, and it howled through the branches of the old trees that surrounded the house. Damn. She had left the car halfway the drive - she was going to get wet. But it couldn't wipe out her rosy feeling of well-being; she was still basking in the glow of their being together. She looked back into the house over her shoulder.
"Rotten weather!" she shouted. "See you!"
"Take care!" he shouted back.
She stepped outside. The door was almost blown out of her hands but she managed to close it with as little of a bang as the wind allowed. Shielding her head from the icy rain with one arm, and carrying her bag on the other, she hurried to the car. She got in, started the engine and switched on the windscreen wipers; it was getting dark and the wind blew a flurry of overdue leaves off the trees.
She switched on the lights. She could see clearly for just about thirty yards; after that everything got blurred. Lovely, she thought. Just what I need.
She slowly put the car into first gear and moved forward when a sudden squall made her adjust the speed of the windscreen wipers to its maximum. She crept down the narrow drive slowly and then the old chestnut, which had been ailing for years, was blown over. It crashed down on top of her car and she lost consciousness.
An hour later he left the house to walk the dog, and high time, too, when in the light of his torch he saw the car, or what was left of it, still sitting in the drive. With his hair on end he ran over to investigate. The windscreen had gone, and he saw Jolene's bright red coat in the beam of his torch. He shouted at her but she didn't react, and forgetting about the dog he ran back into the house and called 112.
The ambulance was rather long. The police were the first to arrive, and they immediately called the fire brigade, who had a hell of a job getting the tree out of the way and extracting her from the wreck.
An officer and one of the paramedics came over to where he stood; he gave them all the information he had to give them.
He stood looking on at the ghastly scene in the driving rain, lit by the powerful headlights of the other cars, without realising he was drenched, and when Jolene was finally freed from her confinement he got a brief glimpse of her face, and his stomach turned over. He retched and looked away.
The paramedics shook their heads. One of them walked over and asked him to come along. He declined.
"I'll be over as soon as possible," he said. "Have to put on dry clothes and lock up first... and have you seen my dog?"
She was rushed to hospital. She was still breathing when she arrived but she did not come to any more; when he arrived by taxi at the hospital, thirty minutes later, she had already died.
Dwayne Rushing had had a long and boring day. He had gone to a conference that he couldn't see his way out of, but he had not expected it to be worth his while, and it wasn't. It had been long and far too detailed and he really couldn't care less, and he had left at the earliest possible opportunity. He didn't feel like having dinner with that lot, so he had made an excuse - he had a long way to go and all that - and he was looking forward to having a nice bite at home; he'd pop something into the microwave alright.
It really was a long way to go. The nearer his home he came, the worse the weather got, and he had to hold the steering wheel hard not to be blown out of his own lane involuntarily. With a sigh of relief he left the motorway behind; he felt even better when he drove on to his own drive. He looked at the digital clock on the dashboard. Ten thirty. Oh my.
Strange. Janet's car wasn't there. She was never out late at night. There wouldn't be something wrong with Rosie? He jumped out of his car and ran into the house.
Rosie was sitting on the couch in the living room. She clutched her felt rabbit and looked at him with a tearstained face. He picked her up and held her close.
"What is it, darling? Where's mummy?"
"I don't know," Rosie blubbered. "She wasn't there when I got home."
"How did you get in?"
"Mummy always leaves the key on a hook in the shed."
Dwayne looked at his daughter, flabbergasted. Rosie, at five years old, was much too young to have to let herself in.
"Always? Isn't she there more often?"
She nodded. "I'm hungry," she said.
Dwayne pulled himself together. "Come," he said. "Let's go to the kitchen."
He found some food in the freezer and stuck it in the microwave, and he found Rosie some biscuits and made her a glass of orange squash. Then he took his cell phone and called his wife's number.
"Hello," a male voice said. "Valley Hospital."
Dwayne's heart skipped a beat. He had to clear his throat twice before he could croak, "Is Janet there?"
"Who is this speaking?"
"Dwayne Rushing. My wife is missing, er -"
"Mr Rushing, do you think you could come over?"
"Yes, of course. What's wrong with her?"
"You'd better come over first. Please."
Dwayne said he would be there and rang off. "Rosie," he said, "mummy's in hospital. I have to go there."
"Is she ill, then?" Rosie said.
Dwayne shook his head. "I don't know. But I'm afraid things are not alright." He stroked her head, and shook his head again.
Then he called the neighbours. He told them he had to go to hospital and asked them to take care of Rosie. Dick and Peggy, who were in their sixties and who he could always rely on, were there within minutes.
"Oh, you poor things," she said. "It's usually bad when they won't tell you over the phone. Come on then, off you go. Do you want Dick to come along?"
Dwayne gave her a bewildered look. "I er -" he said and then he looked at Dick. "You do not mind?" he said.
They went to his car and Dick drove them to the hospital. He was received by an elderly doctor, who made him sit down before he told him the bad news. "You'd better not look at her," he said. "It's not a pretty sight. But perhaps you can identify her jewellery; the fact it's her cell phone isn't identification enough."
He laid out a few items of jewellery. Dwayne could definitely identify her wedding ring; there were a bracelet and a necklace he had never seen before. There was also her red jacket - but she only wore that at festive occasions?
"I do recognise her ring and her jacket," he said. "It can't miss. What happened?"
The doctor raised his eyebrows. Then he told Dwayne her car had been struck by a falling tree, over on the drive of a Mr Tillotson. It had taken them a long time to find out who she was, as the information Mr Tillotson had given was patently wrong; he had said Janet's name was Jolene Molloy. He said that Janet could not have suffered at all; she must have lost consciousness straight away.
Then he told Dwayne that Janet would have to stay there, and he took down his address so the police could contact him.
Dwayne was given Janet's bag and her jewellery. Her jacket was bloodstained and he didn't want it.
The doctor's tale didn't make sense, he thought. Mr Tillotson? Jolene Molloy? And then her red jacket and the key in the shed? Shaking his head he left the room, escorted out by the doctor who went in again when he saw there was someone there to take over.
Dick, who had been waiting for him outside, looked at him questioningly.
"She's dead," Dwayne said. "She was squashed by a falling tree."
His face was white and the skin of his cheeks felt as if it had been stretched too taut across his face. He held Janet's possessions in one hand and he clenched his fists, without realising, and stared into nothing.
Oh Janet... He saw her smiling face before his eyes, and he wanted her so badly it hurt. He felt a wave of nausea come over him, and he stood shaking. The hospital corridor got blurred as his eyes filled with tears.
Dick put a hand on his arm. "Come on. Let's go home."
Peggy had sat in the kitchen with Rosie until she had eaten some food; anxiety had ruined her appetite, and she kept asking Peggy what had happened. But Peggy didn't know. She took the little girl on her knee and cuddled her, and eventually Rosie fell asleep. She sat waiting with the sleeping child still in her arms when she heard the car return.
"Wake up, Rosie," she said. "Let's hear what your dad has to tell us."
