Page 128 of Wife After Wife
Harry went cold. “Go on.”
“Eliza showed me where the spare key was kept, and we went in, and we found Janette unconscious on the floor. She was so dreadfully pale,and... oh it was awful, Mr. Rose. The paramedics said she’s in... they called it postpartum shock. She’s in the Royal Free. I’m still here with Eliza and the baby. He needs feeding. I’m not sure what to do.”
She was waiting for instructions, but his mind had gone blank.
“Mr. Rose?”
“The Royal Free, you say?”
“That’s right. I’m sure she’ll be fine now she’s there... Mr. Rose, we need to feed the baby.”
“Just a moment.”
He put the phone down on the desk and took some deep breaths. The panic started to recede.
Megan. She’d know what to do.
“I’ll call my sister, then come back to you. She lives close.”
Five minutes later Harry was on his way to the hospital, and Megan was en route to Primrose Hill, ready to stay over for as long as she was needed.
•••
He sat by Janette’s bed, unable to take in what had happened. She was linked up to all manner of beeping machines, drips, and tubes, unconscious, clinging to life, but only just.
The ICU doctor told him it was postpartum sepsis—her body’s deadly response to an infection no one knew she had.
Sepsis?People didn’t die of that these days, did they?
Apparently they did, but the doctors were doing everything they could.
Harry held her hand, spoke to her softly. He begged her not to leave him. She’d been part of his life for so long, always there, always caring, so kind, bringing him such deep contentment. He’d be lost without her.
He bent his head, resting it on her hand, soaking it with his tears, pleading with her to stay with him, and Eddie, their perfect boy.
Hour after hour he willed it.Fight, Janette, don’t leave us.
Nurses came and went, checking, monitoring, bringing him cups oftea. At after two in the morning he finally dozed in the chair by her bed, still holding her hand. He’d had no medication since breakfast, no food since lunchtime, no proper sleep for weeks, and now the stress... his mind wandered in and out of consciousness, bringing disturbing dreams: shadowy figures in the room, murmured voices, a black silhouette in the corner. Another dark shape, a whisper: “She needs to die.”
He jerked awake. It was four thirty in the morning.
Janette lived only one more hour, slipping away as she’d lived her life—quietly, without a fuss.
Harry’s heart broke.
•••
“You can’t stay here alone,” said Megan. “You clearly can’t look after yourself.”
The kitchen was piled with unwashed dishes and empty bottles. It was disgusting, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to care. He’d told the cleaner to stay away, wanting to be by himself.
It had been—how long? Two weeks? He’d lost track of time since Janette died. His children were still at Megan and Charles’s, and he hadn’t been back to work yet. Alcohol and painkillers had dulled his mind, numbing the hurt to the extent that he was able to function, but only at home. He couldn’t face the world.
She was gone.Gone. How did a person simply cease to exist?
Janette’s parents had organized the funeral, and he’d sleepwalked through it. He could hardly remember giving the eulogy, or the tea and sandwiches afterward.
He was terrified of sleeping. He’d fall into vivid dreams that stayed with him throughout the day. Nightmares inhabited by pale ghosts—Janette, Ana, dead babies.
