Page 71 of Her Last Breath

‘What’s happened?’ Jane’s heart was hammering her ribcage, panic coursing through her.

‘Your mum, she wasn’t well when we came this morning, looks like she had a really bad night. We called the GP straight away; they have an on-call guy for this. Well, an on-call woman.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘She was struggling to breathe when we found her. She’s stable now, but your mum said you were away for work, but I thought I’d better call you.’

Jane felt her legs give way, sliding to the bathroom floor. Had she pushed her mother over the edge with her ranting last night? She hoped not, but that’s what it looked like. Jane got up slowly, getting into the shower, feeling empty.

Sameer was right, she thought, as the cold water hit her, waking her up. She had a decision to make.

Before she was finished washing, she knew exactly what she needed to do. She texted DS Johnson, telling him she would be in a bit later than usual.

Fifteen minutes later, Jane opened the living-room door in her mother’s house. The curtains were pulled back to let the brightness in, a last vestige of summer breathing through into September. Maeve was seated in an anti-sore chair, staring out of the window. She looked like a shadow of the woman she’d been in life; bony collarbones on display, her small hands folded on a knitted blanket over her legs.

Jane took two steps into the room, the movement alerting her mother, who slowly turned her eyes towards her daughter. In a small, scared voice, she called Jane’s name. Again, Jane tried to make sense of this tiny figure, so unthreatening, and the woman who had forced her resentment and bitterness onto Jane. How she was made to carry a burden of guilt. If Jane had succumbed to her demons, the drink and men, there was no one who would pick up the pieces and she thanked the universe for rescuing her from the void she had been plunged into as a teenager.

Jane took another tentative step towards her mother, whose eyes were wide open, scared. She saw the wedding band still on her finger. Thought of how her father had left because he couldn’t deal with the fallout and her mother’s behaviour after Ed’s death. Then a prickling sense of anger at him. He knew what she was like and he still left Jane alone with her.

‘Jane,’ came the hoarse, broken voice again.

Sameer’s words echoed in her head. Maeve was also a victim. Yes, she had made some horrendous choices which had devastating consequences on the people around her. Still, she too had suffered. The greatest loss.

Jane knew Sameer was right. The choices she made now would only impact her. If she chose to exact a revenge and punish her mother on her deathbed, Jane would be left to deal with the fallout from it. Alone. She had to make better choices than the adults in her life had. Her parents had failed her. For the first time in her life, she had clarity on the roles they played. Her father, the man she had idolised after her brother, she was finally able to see him for the weak man he was and his part in how Jane’s life turned out. Maybe she had done the same? Turned her frustration for him towards her mother because she was there?

Jane wouldn’t make their mistakes. She wouldn’t let herself down.

Quickly covering the space between her and where her mother sat, Jane reached out and held Maeve’s hand. Papery, warm skin, which Jane stroked gently, reassuringly.

‘Don’t worry, Mum. I’m here. I’ll be here for as long as you need me.’

Maeve nodded, closing her eyes, and was gently sleeping within minutes, her head lolling on one side of the chair. Jane adjusted her neck with a cushion and made sure her blanket was tucked in tightly over her knees. She messaged the care provider, asked them to set up extra shifts for her mother. Cost didn’t matter now.

She sat with Maeve for a few minutes. Her phone was lighting up with messages and updates from DS Johnson. She knew she had to go.

Heading out of the house, it hit her hard. For most of her life, she thought that she was a loner who didn’t need anyone, didn’t want to feel weak by relying on someone that would let her down. Only now did she realise that even in those pockets of aloneness, her mother was still there in the background. No matter how difficult that relationship was, it was something tangible that meant Jane had once been part of something. A family, a community. And now the realisation was as painful as it was real. That once her mother died, she would be all alone in the world.

Chapter 47

‘Don’t know how I’m gonna rent this place out now. Who wants a gaff where some old bloke’s topped himself, you know?’

Jane took in the garrulous landlord, Tanveer Iqbal – aka Terry – who was about to show her round Bill Hargreaves’ two-bedroom corner semi.

‘People forget,’ Jane said tartly. ‘The garage connects to the house?’

‘Yes. There’s a side door that lets you straight in from the house. Plus, the shutters at the front. Any of your lot looking for a new place? I’m sure suicides and murders don’t bother you guys?’

‘I’ll ask.’

The shutters rose to reveal a small space, enough to hold a couple of vehicles at a push. Her eyes were immediately drawn to a hoist on one side. It was the industrial version of the one the carers used to lift her mother in and out of bed. In the middle of the garage, there was a bench, tools, shelves. White, plastic boxes piled up and labelled. Next to the hoist, she observed engine parts on the floor, and a car with the bonnet fixed open. A vintage Harley-Davidson was parked on the opposite side.

‘Bill’s?’

‘Yep. Hobby, like. Plus, I think he did the odd job here and there – side hustle, like. I didn’t mind, just increased his rent a bit when the lekky bills started to go up. The hoist is for the heavy engines, he used it to get them in and out of the cars.’

Carefully examining the hoist, Jane felt a sense of foreboding. Clicking a picture on her phone, she sent it to Dr Lydia, before following Terry into the house.

‘It’s very clean – the guy was good like that. Not like some of my tenants, you know? Pigs, man. I have to strip the place when they leave. Still, sometimes you just have to take the risk or not pay the mortgage.’