The Forget-Me-Not Sonata(45)

When Rose and Henry entered Isla’s room at dawn Audrey was asleep on the bed, curled up behind her sister, her arm wrapped around Isla’s waist. Their long corkscrew curls fanned out over the pillows like golden halos that shone through the pale morning light and the gentle rise and fall of their bodies betrayed no sign of the battle they had fought. Audrey’s cheeks glowed like ripe peaches but Isla’s were grey. The fire had been extinguished and Isla’s small body was no longer tormented but at peace. Rose was suddenly struck with fear and she clutched her neck with a cold hand. She hastened to the bedside and fell to her knees, blinking at her younger daughter through eyes misted with tears. ‘Isla,’ she choked. ‘Wake up, Isla.’

Audrey awoke at once and leapt from the bed in panic. Isla showed no sign of life except the shallow breaths that seemed to enter and leave her body like a random wind whistling through the aisle of an empty church. When neither parent managed to resuscitate her, they realized to their horror that she had lost consciousness.

The good doctor was called once again and after examining the patient with a grave face and leaden heart he declared that she had sunk into a coma. As the whole family stood around the bed waiting for the ambulance to arrive, only Albert had the courage to say what was on everyone’s mind. ‘No one’s ever died of flu,’ he said then raised his swollen eyes to his mother, silently demanding an explanation. Rose turned to her husband who sighed heavily and drew his lips into a thin line of despair.

‘It’s not flu, son,’ he replied, shaking his head that felt as heavy and solid as if filled with lead.

‘Then what is it, Daddy?’

‘The doctor says it’s meningitis.’

‘Why didn’t he say that last night?’

‘Because he didn’t know then. Meningitis has the symptoms of flu, Albert. He couldn’t have known.’ Henry was unable to look at his wife. They both knew what meningitis meant.

‘But she’ll be all right?’ he asked, remembering the time he flicked a peanut down her throat, she had been all right then.

‘She’s not going to die, is she?’ asked George, one of Henry and Rose’s smallest sons. Everyone stared at the little boy who was too young to understand about death.

‘No, no,’ said Henry bravely. ‘Not our Isla.’ He patted George on his shoulder reassuringly.

‘No, George,’ Rose interjected. ‘She’ll be fine, you’ll see.’

‘The doctors will make her well again, won’t they?’ said Albert hopefully.

Then Audrey spoke. ‘Isla’s gone,’ she said in a small voice. She hadn’t spoken since the early hours of the morning when she had begged her sister not to leave her and her voice now sounded far away and strange. But Isla had wanted to go. Death had no longer frightened her but welcomed her into its breast like an old, familiar friend.

They all stared at the bed where Isla’s body was now still. The random wind had moved on leaving behind an empty shell. No one spoke. A shocked silence descended upon them all. Rose cried quietly, the tears cascading down her cheeks and she held out her hand for her husband to hold. There is no grief like a parent’s grief for their dead child and Rose and Henry stood alone with their pain, their fingers entwined, silently struggling with their faith. Little George and his younger brother, Edward, wept because their mother was weeping; they were too young to comprehend the finality of death. Albert would have liked to cry, but his fear froze his emotions and robbed him of his voice so that only his chin wobbled, silently conveying his anguish.

‘We never said goodbye,’ whispered Rose. ‘We never even told her how much we love her.’

‘She knew,’ said Henry.

‘I was the last person to speak to her,’ said Audrey softly, without taking her eyes off her sister. ‘She knew she was going to die, yet she wasn’t afraid. She was happy to go, impatient even. It was as if she was aware that she was delivering her final words. She told me to tell you all that she loves you and always will and that she was sorry she didn’t have time to tell you herself. Then she said she had to go.’

Rose shook her head and brought her hand up to her lips to stop them from trembling. ‘Go where?’ she asked in a raw whisper.

Audrey shrugged. ‘Most unlike Isla.’ She smiled at the recollection of her sister’s departure. It had been serene. A gentle slipping away. ‘She stared into the far corner of the room and her whole face lit up. Then she said, “So that’s where you went to, Granny, I’ve always wondered what Heaven’s like.”’