Lying in Wait by Liz Nugent Page A

then, in front of me. I stood in shock in those ten seconds while he fought to breathe, until he was entirely still. I looked from him back to the turkey on the floor, trying to believe what I was seeing. And then I tried to shake him. I turned him over and blew into his mouth, but nothing I did worked. I screamed for Laurence. He came immediately and took in the scene at once. My poor brave boy.
    Without saying anything at all, Laurence picked up the turkey and put it in the swing-top bin, forsaking the sandwiches and stews. He went to the cloakroom to call for an ambulance and returned with a brimming glass of brandy for me. He mopped the floor and then moved Andrew carefully on to it and put one of the kitchen cushions behind his head. He wiped the grease from the side of Andrew’s face and his hair with a tea towel. I wanted to close his eyes, but there was a kind of empty innocence in them and I needed Laurence to see that. He went to ring Andrew’s brother, Finn, who could relay the news to their mother, Eleanor.
    Perhaps because it was Christmas Day, the ambulance took an hour to arrive, or maybe it was because Laurence had told them that Andrew was already dead and therefore it was not an emergency. Eleanor, Finn and his wife, Rosie, were there by then. Finn was shocked but stoic about his younger brother’s passing. They were not close.
    Rosie swung into action, making phone calls and filling glasses while Eleanor just cried silently in Andrew’s leather armchair. I resented her sitting there. Andrew was her baby. Eleanor and I tolerated each other most of the time, but shenever pulled her punches. Her role as the family matriarch entitled her to say whatever she wanted, and it was usually critical. She could never refrain from commenting about Laurence’s weight. Andrew usually visited his mother alone, and when she came to visit us I sat on my hands and bit my tongue. In our grief on this saddest of days, we did not make any attempt to comfort each other.
    I think I went into shock after that. Finn and Laurence found my tablets and fed them to me. I was put to bed and woke up hours later, screaming for Andrew. Laurence came and sat with me, rubbing my arm, assuring me that everything was going to be OK and that he would look after me now. It seemed so stupid to me, a little boy saying he was in charge. The pain of this loss was so much worse than all of the miscarriages.
    In the few days before the funeral, I stayed in bed, leaving all the arrangements to Finn and Rosie and my son. I lived in a tranquillized haze. There was some fuss over the clothes that Andrew was to be laid out in. Laurence had chosen Andrew’s favourite mustard-coloured corduroy slacks and burgundy cardigan, and Eleanor was horrified that he wasn’t in his best suit. I was beyond caring.
    The funeral happened without my input. I felt as if I were underwater in a swimming pool and everything was happening above my head, beyond the surface of the water. I watched, absorbed, but could not engage. I stood in a receiving line, shaking hands with hundreds of people: politicians, broadcasters, coroners and lawyers. Laurence, by my side, kept me upright and supplied me with tissues. My emotions broke through when I watched Laurence carrying the coffin that contained his father’s corpse. I began to scream, and everyone stood away from me in horror until Rosie and one of her sons hustled me out of the church into the waitingblack Mercedes. She found some pills in my bag and I was glad to take them. Eleanor got into the car and told me that I must conduct myself with dignity, and I wanted to slap her, but the pills began to work so I looked out of the window on the way to the graveyard, watching people carrying shopping bags, waiting at bus stops, chatting over hedges, as if nothing had happened. When the coffin was later lowered into the ground, Laurence held firmly on to my arm.
    Back at Avalon, Rosie and her brood handed out sandwiches to the