Tom clung to sleep, fought against the sound that broke through his dreams and drew him back, up into the waking world. Fought until Megan’s shake lost him the fight, and he blinked groggily.
“Oi. Phone. Shut it up.”
He shook some consciousness into himself and reached out a fumbling hand, holding the screen close to his eyes to read the name, and then blinked properly awake and got out of bed. “I’ll take it downstairs. Sorry…”
Megan buried her face in her pillow, and he turned his attention back to the phone, climbing out of bed even as he swiped to accept the call. “Hello? Ruth?” He opened the door as quietly as possible, dodged the creaky floorboard to reach the stairs. “Ruth?”
“Tom.” Her voice was slow, slurred.
“Hi, Ruth, what is it?”
“Sorry… to wake you. Sorry. I just thought…”
“Where are you, what’s wrong?”
“Whitby.”
“Right. Why?”
“Dunno. Just… decided to.”
“Ruth, it’s three in the morning, what’s wrong?”
“Lonely.”
“Right.”
“Miss Dot.”
“I know you do.” He thought quickly, tried to work out what on earth was going on. “You’re at the Motherhouse?”
“No.”
“Are you with anyone?”
“No.”
“Where are you?”
“On the cliffs. Bit past the priory.”
“How are you feeling?” He should be listening, really, but he had too many questions. Questions which only increased with her every answer.
“Tired. Lonely. Sick. Will you... hear my confession, Tom?”
He frowned, trying to get his head around the request. This was a degree of wrong he'd never encountered before. “I couldn’t quite refuse, but I’d very much rather not, you’d be better off going to someone else, our relationship is complicated enough already and you’d be better with someone… kind of, independent? In both of our interests. Honestly I'm surprised you're asking.”
“You’re the only one I can think of.”
“You know a lot of priests.”
“At this time of night.”
“Ruth, It can wait until the morning, it really can. It'd have to, anyway; I’m over a hundred miles away.”
“We’re talking to each other now.”
“What, over the phone?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not a thing, Ruth.”
“It’s the intention. God knows the intention. Better than... nothing.”
“No, Ruth.”
“Please, Tom.” He heard her voice catch, heard her shuddering breath.
“What is it, Ruth? Why the rush? This isn't like you.”
“I can’t do it…”
“What?”
“Living. On my own. Starting again.”
“You can, Ruth, I know you can. Do you want me to come out to you?” He crept up the stairs again, to take clothes from the wardrobe as quietly as possible and scribble a note to Megan, who took it and nodded with eyes wide, before picking up her own phone. He left her to it and hurried back downstairs.
“No need.”
“It sounds like every need.”
“Over the phone is fine.”
“You don't really believe that. I'm coming, Ruth. Don’t do anything without telling me first, nothing irreversible. You can’t do that to me.”
“You’re strong, Tom. You’ve lost so many, yet you keep going. But then you have your family. They’ll look after you, you’re not on your own.”
“Nor are you, Ruth.”
“All I have is work. For two more months.”
“You have me.” He hung the cross around his neck with a desperate prayer, stuffed his feet into his shoes and half ran out to the car. “You have me, you’ll always have me.”
He could hear her crying on the other end of the phone, that the only reassurance as he started the car and jammed in the destination.
“Everything hurts.”
“It'll get better, Ruth.”
“It hurts so much. I don't know what's happening, I think I'm dying, and maybe that's good.”
“Come down off the cliff. Back to your car. Or the motherhouse. Go to the priory. Get them to call an ambulance.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why are you up there anyway?”
“I don’t know. It seemed like a good place.”
“What for?”
He listened to her shuddering breaths. “Dunno, just seemed... right. The dead… aren’t sad. Just the living.”
“I know, you don’t get to choose when you die though.”
“Some… some people do.”
“Ruth, no. Listen to me. No.” He had to keep her talking. “How are you feeling? Apart from in pain and tired and full of grief?”
“Sick. So tired. Alone. Like I'm… not all here.” If anything, her breaths were getting faster.
“You’re not alone, Ruth, I’m coming.”
“So alone. I want Dot.”
“I know you do. You buried her today?”
“Yeah.”
“If she were here now, what would she want you to do?”
“Be with her. Stay with her.”
“No, Ruth, she’d want you to look after yourself. You need to go to hospital.”
“Be with her. Happy with her.”
“No, Ruth. It’s not your time.”
“It might be.”
“You don’t get to decide.”
“Yes I do. I do. I do.” A long silence, so long he started to fear the worst, and then she spoke again, words slurring together so that they were barely intelligible. “Let me confess, Tom.”
“No. Not over the phone.”
“It’s fine.” A hint of her usual authority.
“No, it is not. As you know.”
“You can’t... refuse.”
“Yes, I can, I just did.”
“And then what if I die?”
“You’re not going to die.” He tried to sound certain. Still two hours to drive. How about the emergency services, were they almost there? He had no way of knowing.
“I want to. So I will. It’s my choice.”
“Ruth.” He considered the different ways he could respond, uncertain what would get through to her in this state. “Ruth, please. For me. Wait until I get there.”
“You don’t have to come.”
“I’m coming. If nothing else, you can make your confession. Prepare.” And he could hold onto her and drag her to a hospital.
“How long?”
He hesitated a second. “An hour or so. I’m coming as fast as I can. You can wait that long.” Though he really hoped someone else got to her first.
“Over the phone is fine.”
“I can’t give absolution over the phone.”
“It’s the intention, God knows the intention… please…”
“Be patient, Ruth, be patient, it’s a permanent thing.”
“I can’t take it… that long.”
“You’re talking to me.”
“Please. It hurts.”
“Not for much longer. Come on, Ruth. For me. Walk down towards Whitby a bit, so I’ve less far to come.”
“You shouldn’t. You have work tomorrow.”
“But I am. Wait for me.” I can’t lose you as well. Especially not like this, for no reason, in a feverish delirium. Not after mum, and Mick, and Justin, and Grace.
A long, long silence, just her shaky breath on the other end of the phone.
“You’re still there?” Just to check, after about five minutes.
“Yeah. Hurry up.”
“Walk back towards the car park.”
“Too tired.”
He carried on driving. Another five minutes. Another “are you there?” Another yes. And again, and again, her voice quieter each time. Then a crunch, which it took him a minute to realise was the sound of her phone hitting the ground. His heart seemed to stop for a second.
“Ruth! Ruth! Are you okay?”
Silence. A long silence. He called her name again, and was met with nothing, and he knew that he should pray but didn't know how. “Ruth! Ruth, are you there? Ruth!”
Then there was clattering, a mass of noise that he couldn't process, followed by a voice from a distance which finally became clear.
“Tom?”
“I'm here.”
“What... happened?”
“I don't know. Did you drop the phone?”
“I... think so. Don't... remember. Head... hurts.” There was a second's pause. “I'm scared.”
“I'm coming, Ruth. Hold on.”
“Can't hold... phone. Put it on speaker.”
“That's sensible. I'm right here, I'm coming.”
“Why am I here?”
“I don't know, but I'm coming.”
“Okay.”
A long silence, as street lamps flashed by outside the car, hiding the stars from sight.
“Ruth?”
“Yeah?”
“Just checking you're still there.”
“Yeah.”
“Hold on.”
Her breathing was the only answer, and the night wore on. On the other side of the road, an ambulance raced past, siren wailing, and then silence again. There was nothing he could do, other than sit here in this car and wait.
“Tom?" Her voice came as a whisper. “Are you there?”
“Yes. Still here.”
“There are people coming.”
At last. “Go to them.”
“I’m on my own… there are a lot of them.”
“I’m coming.”
“I’m scared.”
“Don’t be scared.”
“What if they hurt me?”
“They won’t.”
“But they might.”
“They won’t. Breathe properly, calm as you can.” He could hear her hyperventilating, wished he was closer. “Shh. It’s okay.”
“There’s police.”
“There you go. You’re safe. Call out, if you can.”
“What if they arrest me?”
“I’ll come and get you. Like last time.”
“But then…”
“Shh. You've done nothing wrong, anyway.”
Her breathing was fast and ragged, and he heard a call in the background.
“They’re looking for me.”
“Answer, then.”
“But I don’t... want them to find me.”
“They’ve already found you. I told Megan to call them. You're ill, not thinking straight, you need help. I’ll be with you soon, Ruth.”
“What if they take me away?”
“I hope they do, Ruth, to somewhere you'll be well looked after. I’ll come and find you there.”
Ruth? It’s Ruth, isn’t it?
Her shuddering breaths filled the car.
Ruth, it’s okay, we’re here to help you. We’re going to get you somewhere safe, okay?
“I can’t go, Tom’s coming.”
“Go with them, Ruth.”
You have him on the phone there? Yes? No, it’s okay, I’m not going to take it. We’re taking you to Scarborough Hospital, Ruth, tell him that, he can meet you there...hush, don’t be scared, we’re here to look after you...Tom’s wife Megan told us you were here… can I take your wrist a moment? Look this way for me... steady there! We'll get you to hospital, there’s an air ambulance coming…
The conversation faded into a murmur, too soft for him to pick up more than odd words. Not that it mattered, anyway, all he needed to do was change his destination.
“They’re making me move…”
“Good. In a helicopter. I heard. Go with them, don’t be scared.”
“Why did you tell them?”
“Because I was too far away and you’re ill and I needed to make sure you were safe.”
“I do... feel ill.”
I bet you do. Here, drink this, little sips. It tastes a bit funny but will help you feel better - you've got all the signs of heatstroke, no wonder with the heat we've had today... you must have been feeling horrendous for a while now. Let me get this around you... Well done, Ruth. You know, most people would just collapse at home, not go for a long drive and a midnight stroll! I bet it's pretty confusing, all of it, but don't worry we've got you, lie back now...
It was like a knot had eased in Tom's chest. “Let them look after you, Ruth. I’ll see you at Scarborough. I’ll be there in… about an hour, hopefully.”
“Am I very ill?” Her voice was small. “If they’re... calling a helicopter…”
“You’re up on a cliff away from a road. It’s easier to bring in a helicopter. And you’ve been up there a long time, with heatstroke, which is a nasty thing.”
“What if I... die before you... get here?”
We’re here to look after you, Ruth, don’t worry.
“Hear that? Don’t worry, let them look after you.”
“I’m scared.”
“I’ll be there soon, Ruthie. I promise.”
He could hear the helicopter arrive perhaps five minutes later, said a goodbye and a final word of reassurance, and then he was free to focus entirely on the road. Ahead of him, the sky was starting to gain a pink tinge, and the first cars were on the roads with him. He prayed as he drove, as the sky grew lighter and the sea grew closer, as Scarborough appeared first on the signs and then on the horizon.
And then he parked the car, took his visiting kit from its compartment, entered the reception and went up to the front desk. “I’m here to see Ruth Harwood. It's Tom Carter, she was asking for me.”
“Of course. She’s in a private room upstairs…”
He listened to the directions and then took the stairs two at a time, pressing against a wall to allow a couple of nurses to pass. The signposting was clear, making it easy for him to find and tap on the door, and then be welcomed in by a nurse. They weren't asking him to wait for visiting hours, he noticed, and that wasn't reassuring. Hopefully it was just the collar working its usual magic.
“Tom? Yes, she kept saying you were coming. She’s asleep now, hopefully recovering.”
“What is it, if you can tell me? I know she was feeling rough and very confused, I think the paramedic said something about heatstroke...”
“It seems to be primarily heatstroke and dehydration. We’ve managed to bring her temperature down and are doing tests to check the state of her organs but so far medication and fluids are helping a lot. Still not out of the woods, she’s not young and she was out on that cliff a long time before we got to her, but heatstroke's less dangerous now than it was twenty years ago and… well, we’re keeping a close eye on her.”
“May I go and sit with her?”
“It'd probably be best if you're here when she wakes up, so yes. Let her sleep, she desperately needs it.”
“I will.”
There was a seat there ready, and he took it and looked down on Ruth as she shifted in uneasy sleep. Grey hair sticking to her face, damp with sweat. Bare wrinkled arms on top of the covers, the clear tube of the drip disappearing into her skin, an oxygen mask over her face and a small array of monitors tracking her vitals. Suddenly she looked all of her seventy years.
He placed his visiting kit on the table beside the bed, beside her glasses and cross, and then took the cross in his hands to examine. Silver, four purple gems, the chi-rho symbol in the middle with ornamentation around. The corners worn, the shine dulled. He turned it over to see the back, the side he’d never seen, holding it close to his face to read the inscription. Thy Will Be Done. Returning it carefully to the bedside table, he wondered whether he should have picked it up without asking her first. Well, he’d done it now.
Watching her chest rise and fall, he prayed, giving thanks and also pleading. Because he couldn’t lose her too, he just couldn’t, not after everyone else. Not so soon after Grace, and not over something so pointless. Please, God. One pointless death is enough for one year. Or indeed for a decade. I’ve lost enough, don’t steal her too, not yet…
Ruth shifted, her eyes blinking open for a second and then narrowing against the gentle light. Her right hand reached towards her left arm, towards the IV, and Tom placed his hand over hers to stop her. She blinked at him, squinting.
“Hey, Ruth. I promised I’d come. Lie still now.”
“Tom.” Her voice was muffled by the mask.
“That’s me.”
“I feel shit.” Her voice cracked, and she shifted uncomfortably to prove her words. But she was lucid, or at least close, and a trickle of relief ran through him.
“I know. Lie still. You’re being well looked after.”
“In hospital?”
“That’s right.” He nodded to the nurse, who’d crossed the room at the signs of Ruth’s stirring.
“You’ll stay here..?” There was fear in the words and in the desperation with which she clung to his hand.
“I will.” He stroked a few wisps of hair out of her face with his free hand. “I’ve texted Megan and emailed the office so I can stay, and I’ve texted Isla and Kath to tell them about you. Everything’s in hand, you just need to sleep.” He squeezed her hand. “Would you like me to anoint you?”
She tried to move her head in a nod. “Yes. Please.” Then she smiled. “You’re wearing purple.”
“I am.” He turned his head to murmur to the nurse, to get approval for his actions, and then looked back, opening his visiting case with one hand so that she could continue to hold the other. It was harder to hang his stole around his neck, this the only challenge as the book was well enough worn to fall open on the correct page and then lie open on the edge of the bed. He checked that the oil was on hand, swallowed, and then closed his eyes for a moment to make his own private prayer. In all his ministry to Ruth, this was something he had never needed to offer her.
“Blessed are you, sovereign God, gentle and merciful…”
She closed her eyes as he read the prayers, her hand still clinging to his, whispering the responses but otherwise still. He eased his hand free of hers to lay on her head, laying on hands just as she had done for him at his ordination - the same symbol, for quite different purposes, he thought. And soon he would lay hands on others to commission them to this very ministry.
He dipped his thumb in the oil, marking her forehead with the sign of the cross before taking her hands again, to hold them for the final prayer. Her eyes flickered open, and he met their fear with calm, and with a smile, as he wiped his thumb clean and packed away his kit and finally stroked her hair smooth again.
“Now. Sleep.”
“Where’s my cross?”
“Here, beside your bed.” He held it up for her, and then let her touch it before taking it back. “It’s on your bedside table, with your glasses. Safe.”
“Good.” She blinked several times and shifted. “What happened?”
“You didn't take as much care of yourself as you should and ended up with heatstroke - on top of all the sleep deprivation and dehydration. And then because you're a stubborn brat who didn't want to let anyone help you, they're having to make sure you haven't given yourself extra complications. Certainly your brain’s very tired and confused, and you need to give it a break to recover.”
“I’ll be okay?”
“Be good and sleep and let your body fix itself. You’re in a safe place being well looked after.”
She shut her eyes obediently. “I hate this.”
“I bet you do. Just ride it out.” He laid a hand on her arm. “Hush now. Sleep, don’t speak. I’m right here, you’re safe, and you'll feel better soon. Now sleep.”
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