Page 2 of Her Last Breath

Jane placed the bacon sandwich, a glass of orange juice and a mug of tepid tea on a bed tray. Using her stockinged feet to kick open the kitchen door, she avoided her mother’s judging gaze as she entered the front room. It had been converted into a living space, with a hospital bed that could be levered electronically, surrounded by piles of clothes and medical supplies.

Jane felt a pang of sadness every time she saw the packets of absorbent pads. The tough, practical woman she had grown up with was now reduced to a shell, her control over her body gone. Her mother was only sixty-two, it felt too soon for her to be in this state.

The TV was playing in the background, her mother, Maeve, clinging tightly to the remote. She scanned the breakfast tray, disappointed at the basic offering. Taking a bite, her expression soured.

‘I know it’s burnt, but remember what you used to tell us as kids?’ Jane said cheerfully. ‘Charcoal is good for you.’

Maeve’s mouth set in a grimace.

‘Is there anything else? I can’t eat this. Where are Lorraine and the Pakistani girl?’

‘They’re late, I told you. And the Pakistani girl is an Indian girl called Madhu. I need to get to work and this is the best I could do this morning. Sorry.’

‘Is there no fruit you can cut for me? Or some toast? Although from the smell I think you burnt that as well …’

‘The carers will be here at lunch. You can make do with this for now, can’t you?’

Maeve ate in silence, hesitantly chewing on the burnt meat and thick bread. Jane discreetly checked the clock on the mantlepiece, the same one that had been there since before she had left home. What was that, twenty years ago now? Remembering always made her pause, as though she was trapped between her troubled past and an elusive future. Life seemed like some sort of wasted opportunity, running from Burnley decades ago, only to then be forced to come back.

Catching sight of the blotches of red on her shirt, Jane hurried back upstairs to change. It was nearly 8.30 when she returned to say goodbye to Maeve on her way out. She was normally in the office by 8.00.

‘The carers are coming at lunch.’

‘You already told me. I have cancer, not dementia. Although sometimes I wish I did.’

‘They’ll also come back for the evening shift.’

‘What a waste of money. They’re hardly Florence Nightingales.’

‘Let me worry about the money.’

‘I have my pension, use that.’

‘They’ll give you dinner and get you ready for bed.’

‘Lucky me. I hope they don’t give me curry again; it gives me the runs. I have such pains in my stomach all the time. Tell them to just make something light. Preferably not burnt …’

‘No burnt curry. I’ll let them know.’

Maeve tutted at the screen. ‘Have you seen this?’

Jane’s eyes flicked to the TV. A female reporter standing at a crime scene on the banks of the River Calder, confirming that a woman’s body had been pulled from the water. It was thought to be Alice Rogers, a young mother who had been missing for two weeks.

The breath sucked from her, Jane felt the past grab at her insides.

A remembered image. Another body being pulled from the water, as Jane watched on horrified, shivering in the paramedic’s blanket. His pale limbs, his hair darkened by the lake water, his face flopping in her direction. Ed. Her brother. Her world. Jane had been six, Ed fourteen. She felt the pain pricking at her eyes, tears forming.

‘Selfish girl,’ spat Maeve, as the TV report ended. ‘No care for her poor parents. Why did she go into the water?’

Watching her mother chewing on her sandwich, Jane felt her grief for Ed twist into the resentment she’d carried around for years. The guilt and shame, the accusation that her mother had taunted her with since the day Ed died. That he had drowned while trying to save Jane’s life.

The selfish girl jibe was aimed squarely at Jane, to hurt her as deeply as Maeve could. To her own disappointment, Jane could feel the jab land in places she thought time had managed to heal.

Angry, upset, Jane checked to see if her team had messaged her. Realising they hadn’t, she searched online, finding a breaking news piece on the Burnley Reporter website. Journalist Sol Brazani was reporting that Alice Rogers had been found drowned in the River Calder near Padiham that morning. Police had ruled out looking for anyone else in connection with the mother-of-two’s death.

‘If you need me, call my mobile,’ she barked at her mother.

‘I don’t know how to use the phone you got me.’