Flowerpot

Jimmy hugged the now empty flowerpot to his chest and crawled up the path. He fumbled with the key momentarily, but then collapsed gratefully through the front door into the hall. He lay there for a moment before finding the energy to kick the door and shut out the unforgiving night. He briefly contemplated the beckoning comfort of his bed, or even the sofa lurking in his peripheral vision. His aching, bruised body however had other ideas and the rug in the hall took on a hither to unrealised level of comfort.  He laid his head back and drifted in and out of a sleep that resembled unconsciousness.

He was aware of time passing but he couldn't be sure of how long he lay there, minutes, hours, days. Eventually something, a noise, a movement, caught his attention and his focus snapped back as the door suddenly swung inward and after a pause, a scream followed. Emilia his Slovakian housekeeper was hysterical; as he tried to calm her, he was aware of another strangled cry. It took him a moment to realise it was his own mangled voice.

Only when his neighbour  Mr Marshall, arrived did Emilia’s screams subside to sobs. She stayed weeping at his side until the ambulance crew arrived.  He let them cut off his clothes and remove his watch and the simple gold neck chain he wore, but refused to relinquish his grip on the flowerpot. He grimly, gripped consciousness and clutched it tightly to himself every time an attempt was made to remove it. For a while everything was chaos and noise. The ambulance staffs questions,  the ream of vital statistics being exchanged above him like a mathematically tennis match, Emilia’s hiccuping account to Tricia of how she had found him, more questions from the consultants which he mutely, failed to answer. He could hear them, but very little penetrated the darkness in his suffocating brain. “Irregular heart beat” and “lower than expected response rate” meant little against his sense of desolate isolation and atop the tightening noose of anxiety.

Eventually, a sort of quiet fell. The hubbub of intensive care became background noise as curtains were pulled, leaving him alone with only his sisters calm but concerned face looking down at him.

“Jamie?”  She asked.

Tricia was the only person who called him Jamie, to everyone else he was Jimmy or Mr Jacobs. Mr Jacobs, mild, timid even, English and Art teacher. He turned towards her and tried to keep her in focus, despite his swimming head, a result of tiredness, threadbare nerves and his not quite right heart.

“Jamie, please can I have the flowerpot?”

He clutched it closer and screwed his face up turning away from her.

“Jamie, Nat was bringing me the orchid, so it’s my flowerpot anyway.”

Hearing her name, hurt more than the cuts and bruises, more than his struggling heart or his crushed windpipe.

“Jamie, please.”

His sister held out one hand and gentle stroked his brow with the other. He looked into her worried eyes. It had been him and Tricia for as long as he could remember, they were intricately and irrevocable woven into one another’s lives. Siblings with little in common but who loved one another never-the-less. They were a team, always there for one another in times of need.  

“You know I loved Nat too” she said, her voice faltering.

He gentle nodded feeling the pull of the stitches on taut skin at the back of his head as he did so. Slowly, gingerly, he held the ceramic pot out and let her take it. The moment it left his hands he felt a release. He sunk back onto his pillows and before long, fell into a dreamless sleep.

He awoke to the sound of voices. He slowly opened his eyes and saw Tricia talking to broad, squat policeman, who now held the flowerpot, which was inside a plastic evidence bag.

“We are fairly sure it is the murder weapon, but we need DNA to confirm.”

“I don’t understand” said Tricia. Hugging herself defensively and staring at the floor.

“He’s such a gentle soul,” she went on “I just can’t begin to comprehend why, how” she trailed off.

“The things is” said the copper “and if you don’t mind me saying, it’s all rather odd. The thing is, we are pretty certain he killed her in self defense.”