The End of the Tunnel

Jean opened her eyes and for one fleeting second everything was right with the world. Then with full wakefulness, the painful realisation dawned that she had to face another day without William. Waking up was the worse part as each day she had to start all over again. What wouldn’t she give to have him snoring on the pillow beside her?
But William was dead, a victim of lung cancer, relegated to another statistic about the evils of smoking. She’d lost count of the times she’d begged him to give up, but he’d always assured her he was fit as a fiddle, which he had been until a year ago when he developed a cough that wouldn’t go away. Eventually, she’d persuaded him to see the doctor, who sent him to a Specialist. The verdict was grim, inoperable lung cancer.
His death haunted her, the eighteen-hour wait on a hospital trolley in casualty when his condition suddenly worsened. No one seemed to care and he wasn’t even offered a drink or painkillers. When he finally was given a bed, he had to wait another five hours for any treatment and beg for the most basic necessities. He died the next day leaving Jean desolate.
They’d wanted children but never been blessed with them. William blamed a bout of Mumps he’d had in his youth. Her only family was a sister and some nieces in Australia who sent annual birthday and Christmas cards .As for friends; she and William hadn’t wanted any as they had each other. Her sister had warned her it was unwise on one of her rare visits but she’d taken no notice as the thought of losing William had never crossed her mind, as he was younger than she was and had never been ill with anything worse than flu. He’d promised he’d always look after her and why should she doubt him?
The Vicar had been after the funeral and tried to comfort her by implying William would be having a wonderful time in heaven, perched on a cloud singing hymns or something, assuming he’d believed the right things.
Jean was unconvinced, as she just couldn’t imagine William enjoying singing hymns for all eternity when he’d rather be with her. He’d never been much for church either, only going on the rare occasions when he had to attend a wedding, christening, or funeral.
She glanced at the clock, which showed it was only 6.30 in the morning but she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep again. The doctor had given her some tablets but they didn’t help. Nothing helped she wanted William and she couldn’t be with him.
She stumbled out of bed and went to put the kettle on, remembering how since he’d retired William had always brought her a cup of tea in bed. The day stretched ahead feeling like a year, She glanced at the calendar absently while waiting for the kettle to boil. It was November the 1st,six months since he’d died .It felt like six years. How could she bear any more long lonely days of mindlessly watching television and venturing out to the local shop occasionally? Her grief felt like an endless dull ache inside her alternating with a searing anguish, which made her feel like screaming, but there was no one to hear., never mind to care.
Suddenly she decided, she couldn’t bear it and she wouldn’t. She grabbed a pen and circled the last day of the month, November 30th,the anniversary of William proposing to her thirty-nine years ago. She’d kill herself and that way would either be reunited with him or find oblivion from her unbearable grief and loneliness. A month would give her time to sort out her affairs and not cause trouble to anyone, as well as giving her time to change her mind .Not that she intended to.
Jean felt calm and resigned as November wore on. She went to see a solicitor and made a will dividing everything between her family in Australia and a cancer charity. Then she wondered how best to kill herself as she’d heard Paracetamol caused a lingering painful death. Eventually she remembered the Doctor telling her never to take more than two of the useless pills at once. She took them out of the bathroom cabinet and read the leaflet that came with them, which warned they were highly toxic and decided maybe they had their uses after all.
November the 29th was a Friday and Jean felt almost happy that this was her last full day on earth. She settled herself at the kitchen table to write a note for whoever found her, when the phone rang.
Rather irately, she picked it up expecting a double-glazing salesman. She wondered how they’d react if she said,” No I don’t need it as I’m dying tomorrow”.
Instead, an elderly and cultured voice greeted her.
“It’s Eleanor Price here. Is that Jean Dutton?”
“Yes, I’m speaking, but I’m afraid I don’t know you.”
“You do. I’ve spoken to you in the Post Office when you were drawing your pension.”
Jean suddenly vaguely remembered a brisk elderly woman who usually said “Good Afternoon” in a quaint old-fashioned way and always seemed to have cat hair on her tweed coat. She’d sent a sympathy card when William died.
Before she could say anything else, Eleanor Price continued
“ I’ve phoned you as we need some help. You lost your husband to cancer didn’t you? Horrible disease, it took my poor sister too. I’m chairwoman of the local fund raising committee for cancer research and we have a Christmas stall at the village hall every year. It’s tomorrow and the lady who helps me, Shirley Clark has gone down with flu. The silly woman wouldn’t have the vaccine and now I’m left high and dry! I can’t manage the stall on my own and everyone I’ve asked has either that wretched bug or another engagement. The other ladies in the group are too busy making tea and selling raffle tickets to do anything else. I thought of you as you’d recently lost your husband to cancer.”
“Well, I’ve another engagement tomorrow myself.” Jean could hardly tell her she was planning to kill herself.
“Can’t you postpone it? This is our main fund raising event. Everyone has worked so hard making things for the stall. You’re my last hope!”
Jean thought and decided she could endure one more day. What difference would it make if she took the pills in the evening instead of the morning? After all, it was only for a few hours.
“Very well, I’ll do It.” she said without enthusiasm” What time?”
“Be there no later than two, my Dear. It starts at half past. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodbye.”

Jean entered the village hall at exactly two and hovered hesitantly in the doorway. She’d been to many a Christmas Fair with William and it felt so strange to be here on her own.
People, some of whom she knew by sight, were bustling around a variety of stalls, making last minute adjustments to the colourful displays.
An elderly woman, whom she recognised as Miss Price hurried towards her.
“Ah, there you are, Dear!” she said leading her towards a stall divided between a display of Christmas cards and fancy goods and a tombola.
“Take your coat off and put it here behind the stall. It gets warm when the people come and you don’t want it sold by mistake! I think it will be easiest if you take the tombola, twenty pence a ticket, or six for a pound. We both need to keep our eyes open though as some try to steal things even though it’s for charity!”
Jean just stood there as Miss Price showed her where to put the money and explained that tickets ending in a zero or a five were winners. She felt terrified she’d get something wrong as the hall filled up until at two thirty sharp a minor TV celebrity who was born in the village declared the fair open.
A small girl approached the tombola clutching a pound coin and handed it to Jean, who held out the plastic basin for her to select six tickets. Her face fell, as the first five were all losers. Then she opened the sixth, which read 510.
“Is that a winner?” she asked shyly.
Jean nodded and searched the stall for the prize. Miss Price had arranged everything in order and she quickly found a bar of chocolate labelled 510 and handed it to the child, who beamed happily.
Jean found herself smiling back at the child’s obvious pleasure.
The tombola seemed to be one of the most popular stalls for all ages and Jean had a steady stream of customers. She even suggested an exchange of prizes when a teenage boy won some face cream and an elderly lady won a football video to the satisfaction of both parties .For the first time since William had died, Jean found she was enjoying herself.
By four, there were only a handful of customers left or the fancy goods and all the tombola prizes were long since gone.
“Well done, Dear,” Miss Price said. “You’ve a knack for this sort of thing! “ I don’t suppose you’re free next Saturday too. “We’re having a smaller stall at the Women’s Institute Fair and I can’t imagine Shirley will be well enough if it’s that Asian flu that’s going around.”
Jean hesitated, she’d put off taking her life for one day and no longer, but would a week make any difference? At least her last actions might help prevent others suffering like poor William.
She nodded her agreement. Miss Price was delighted.
“You must miss your husband .“Miss Price said suddenly.” Have you got a cat?”
Jean shook her head failing to see the connection.
“I’d have never coped with losing my sister without my cats.” Miss Price said ”They’re very good company. Mine will be waiting for me when I get home. Are you one of those people with an allergy or a phobia or something?”
“Oh, no.” Jean replied.” I just never thought of having one. When I was a child, my parents kept a cat, Fluffy her name was. I liked her.”
Miss Price smiled as she started to pack away the unsold Christmas cards.

Jean was half heartedly watching a daytime chat show the following Monday, where two young women were screaming at each other about one stealing the others boyfriend while the host tried to calm them down, when the doorbell rang.
She was surprised as no one ever visited and ignored it until it rang again.
Miss Price stood on the doorstep, clutching a cat carrier in one hand and a stuffed bin bag in the other.
“Hello, Dear!” she said brightly.” Meet Tiger! He turned up on my doorstep a few weeks ago as a stray. He’s a darling and just loves people, but my other cats hate him and are making his life a misery! He’d be perfect for you as ginger cats are especially good companions ,as they’re especially intelligent. Here’s his food and his litter tray. You’ll need to keep him in for a week and then he can go out in the garden.”
“But I don’t know anything about cats!” Jean gasped.” I don’t want a cat!”
“You’ll soon wonder how you managed without one,” Miss Price said firmly. “If you don’t adore him by the New Year, I’ll take him back, but I’m certain you will. Now I can’t stop, the taxi is waiting to take me to do my weekly shopping. I’ll see you Saturday.”
She put the bin bag down on the step, thrust the cat carrier into Jean’s arms, and disappeared down the path before Jean had time to react.
Jean took the cat basket indoors and frantically thumbed through the telephone directory for local animal rescue charities. There was only one and the harassed sounding woman on the end of the line said apologetically that they were full as an old lady with ten cats had just died leaving the cats to their already overburdened resources.
“Can’t you do anything?” Jean begged
“I can give you the number of another organisation but I warn you, most of the animals are put down.” She replied
The cat chose that moment to mew pathetically so Jean declined the offer.
Whatever was she doing to do with the cat as she intended to die next Saturday evening? She supposed she’d better at least let it out of the box and think later.
It was a large handsome cat with orange striped fir and large yellow eyes which slithered apprehensively from its prison. She expected it to run away but it just stared .She decided she’d better feed it and put out it’s litter tray. Maybe on Saturday, she could persuade Miss Price to take it back. Until then, it would have to stay. She tried phoning Miss Price to tell her of her decision but always got the answer phone every time she rang.
She put out the food and returned to watching the television, which had changed to a cookery programme where a chef was making a Christmas pudding with absurdly expensive ingredients. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a bundle of ginger fir landed on her lap and started purring loudly, but there was something oddly soothing about the animal’s presence.
That night when she went to bed, some strange impulse guided her to take the cat with her. Tiger slept soundly at the foot of her bed, purring softly in his sleep. Jean slept better than she had done in months, only waking when the cat tapped her with its paw demanding to be fed.

Saturday came round surprisingly quickly as Jean had to keep going to the shop to buy cat food and litter. She even bought Tiger a catnip mouse, despite having no intention of keeping him.
“You look better already. I knew Tiger would do you good! ”Miss Price greeted her.” I’m so glad you’ve got him as one of my other cats is ill and with the Vet’s bills I couldn’t afford to keep Tiger as well as my other four.”
Jean’s carefully prepared speech about how she couldn’t manage to keep a cat somehow froze on her lips. She decided she would just have to keep him for a month, however hard it was going to be facing Christmas without William

Just like the week before the stall was a great success and they raised over a hundred pounds.
“You should come to our weekly Bring and Buys.” Miss Price said as they were packing up.
Shirley runs them when she’s well. We always have a good chat over a cup of tea as well as fund raising. I’m so glad I asked you to help, I wasn’t quite honest actually, as Angela Jones could have filled in for Shirley, but I had such a strong urge I should contact you. I don’t know why, but I always act on my hunches.”

Spring was in the air as the first crocuses blossomed in Jean’s garden, a fact pointed out by Shirley whom she’d met the week before Christmas, when she’d called on Jean to thank her for helping out. They found they’d a great deal in common, both being recent widows, who enjoyed the same interests though Shirley had a son who was away working somewhere in the Middle East. They’d decided to spend Christmas Day together and now visited each other two or three times a week and had become close friends.
As she closed the door, after June’s visit Jean reached a decision and went upstairs to flush her carefully hoarded pills down the toilet. She’d lost all urge to kill herself and was determined not to be tempted again
She settled back in her chair to watch a video that Shirley had lent her. It struck her this was the first free evening she’d had this week; she was so busy with the fundraising committee and visiting Shirley, not to mention caring for Tiger.
Tiger took his usual place on her lap and purred contently after greeting her with an Eskimo kiss.
She realised she was content and her life was fuller that it had ever been before, even when William was alive.
Then she heard the voice in her head, but most certainly not her imagination. It was unmistakably Williams’s voice.
“I promised I’d look after you didn’t I.”
Her eyes filled with bittersweet tears. Now she knew they’d be reunited one day, but not just yet