Ice And Bones

The large pond sitting at the bottom of the sloping field, surrounded by weeping willows and an abundance of flowers in bloom, was the reason we agreed to purchase the house. It was the reason, I believe, our marriage survived when others fell by the wayside. It was our happy place, our sanctuary. The pond and the magic it created in our lives, is the reason I am telling this story today.

Daphne and I were considered to be chalk and cheese by many people, but these differences never bothered us, we just clicked. Daphne was fun-loving, outgoing, and always up for a good time. I was more reserved, happier away from the crowds, doing my own thing.

But marriage is about compromise, so that is what we did. And we made it work. The house was our biggest compromise. It was far enough away from the city to make me happy, and close enough to a large town and all its social events, to keep Daphne content.

The pond became our meeting point. I would sit and enjoy the peace and calm, watching Daphne garden, other times we would row our little boat out to the middle of the pond and enjoy the sunshine. When family came to visit during summer we would sit on rugs beside the pond enjoying a homemade picnic and lots of laughter.

I had been working as the Head Chef at La Guillotine restaurant in Durnside when Daphne found her way into my life. Having been raised in France, she was so impressed with the Bouillabaisse that she had ordered and eaten, she requested to meet the chef. Our mutual love of French food was the beginning of our love story.

Daphne was a primary school teacher and entertained me with anecdotes of her life and students in France. I entertained Daphne with food that would impress the most traditional of French patrons. Twelve months later we were married and ready to start our life adventure together.

The pond brought us immeasurable joy. Come spring and summer, we would arise before dawn broke, grab a coffee and sit on the front steps, watching the sunrise crest the hill. Butterflies would flutter amongst the branches of the willows, flashes of glorious colours mingling amongst the green leaves. The reeds would hide families of ducks, teaching their newborn ducklings how to feed and swim. By late evening, the chorus of frogs would begin, followed by crickets and night birds.

By autumn, the flowers were losing their lustre, the leaves were turning various shades of yellow, orange and brown, and the frogs and crickets were silent for the most part. You could feel the countryside preparing itself for the long slumber of winter. We would sit on the porch in the evenings, enjoying a glass of wine or beer, and watch the season change.

By winter, the pond would freeze over, and a mist, more often than not, would hover over the frozen water. The ducks had long since flown south for warmer weather, and if it had snowed, which it often did, the view looked reminiscent of a winter wonderland. These days were spent sipping hot cocoa, and sitting in the porch swing, snuggled beneath warm blankets.

Our lives, and the seasons, revolved around the pond. During summer school break we would make plans to paint the house, make repairs, extend the vegetable garden, build a chicken pen, clean out the shed. There was always something to keep us busy. In the evenings we would sometimes go to town for dinner and a movie, or a school charity function. Other times we would go dancing, or visit some friends. We were happy, and life was good.

Our children arrived over a ten-year span, two sons and a daughter. We watched them grow from babes in arms, to young children, to teenagers, and then adults. The pond was their playground for most of those years. We would watch them catching tadpoles and fireflies in the summer evenings, chasing each other through the piles of leaves as autumn arrived, and skating on a frozen pond in winter, until the cold made their noses and cheeks bright red and they would relent, coming inside for some warmth.

It was a continuous cycle that gave us stability, hope and happiness. Each year we watched our family grow, grandchildren were added, we created more wonderful memories, and we enjoyed each other’s company. We never expected anything to change, until one day it did. It arrived without warning.

Our visitor was insidious. It started with the little details. Daphne, the social butterfly who knew everyone's birthday, and any other date of importance that was a reason for celebration, forgot our 38th wedding anniversary. Now you might think, big deal, it's not like it was one of the big ones, such as our 30th or 40th anniversary, but we celebrated every year and had never forgotten. This was a first. She brushed it off and said it was because she was busy, tired and distracted. I believed her and asked her if I could do anything to relieve some of the stress.

Maybe I should have been more alarmed when the "late notice" and "unpaid account" letters started to arrive. We had a shared bank account, so I knew the funds were available. Why hadn't they been paid on time? Daphne was fastidious about paying our bills on time and keeping the accounts in order. What had gone wrong? Daphne explained she had been tired and fell asleep before the accounts could be sorted and paid. I told her I would take care of them immediately and thought nothing more about it.

Christmas arrived with snow and ice, and a visit from our children and grandchildren. I may have been the chef, but Daphne always made her mother's French Toast recipe for Christmas Day breakfast, topped with fresh fruit and cream. It was tradition, and it was the best excuse to get out of bed, other than for the presents. On Christmas Eve, Daphne told me the recipe was too hard to follow, and could I please make something for Christmas breakfast. Fair enough, I thought to myself, she has done this for thirty-nine years, she is entitled to a break.

Without warning, items that had always been kept in certain places began to disappear. When I questioned where they had gone, or if they had been misplaced, Daphne accused others of stealing these missing items. She was adamant she had not moved or lost anything, that it had in fact been stolen by the delivery man, the cleaner, or a visitor. She even went so far as to suggest that I may have stolen them to mess with her. My brain seriously considered that maybe things had been stolen, but this soon turned to concern when the items began to turn up in very unusual places. Could we possibly have a ghost or poltergeist?

Week by week, day by day, I would hear Daphne speaking to herself in French, her native tongue. Now having been together for nearly forty years, I had managed to pick up a respectable understanding of the French language, but nothing she was saying made any sense. Her mutterings would revolve around pets that we did not have, games we had never played, and childhood friends that she went to school with. She would ask them where they were, or why they wouldn't play with her, and then become irritated when they did not reply. At this point, I was starting to wonder if she had become possessed?

The final straw was the night of the annual end of year dance. Every year previously, Daphne assisted with planning and organising, promoting and decorating. What happened this year set alarm bells ringing. Not only did she decline to help with the dance, but she also refused to attend the dance. It was at this moment that I realised I was no longer living with the woman I had married, and a stranger who was totally unknown to me was standing in her place.

This was the woman who used any excuse to celebrate and socialise. The woman I loved and knew inside out. When I suggested she may regret her decision, she reacted by yelling at me to mind my own business, grabbed the vase of flowers off the kitchen table, and hurled them across the room at my head. I had never been more scared in my life than that moment, looking at a woman who looked like Daphne but did not act like her. Something was terribly wrong.

The following morning, my sense of self-preservation led me to telephone and arranged for a house call from our doctor. I told him something was seriously wrong with Daphne but I couldn't explain what. I pleaded for him to assess her to help put my mind at ease. Now, if only things had gone to plan and as expected, then I wouldn't now be having to make plans to commit murder.

Doctor Stephens agreed. Our visitor had indeed been stealthy and cunning. It had taken control of Daphne and would never relinquish its hold. Each day the situation would become worse until nothing but a shell was left behind. The woman I had loved and cherished for nearly forty years, the mother of my children, would not be returning to me. She was dead. The visitor had won.

Murder isn't so hard to commit when you know you won't be around for the consequences that follow. I made two cups of hot cocoa, adding four of the tablets that Doctor Stephens had prescribed to Daphne's glass. I took another four tablets and placed them in the pocket of my jacket. I would need them when the time came.

We sat on the porch, huddled together under blankets to keep the winter cold at bay, taking in the beauty of the sunset, all vibrant shades of reds and oranges, filling the sky with colour that was breathtaking. I sat beside the woman who had been my everything and thought about how lucky I had been to have her in my life.

The tablets worked quickly. I picked Daphne up in my arms, her head resting against my chest, and walked to our car which I had parked beside the house. Opening the passenger door, I carefully placed her in the seat and buckled her in with the seat belt. I returned to the house, making sure everything was in order. All the lights and appliances were off, our wills were up to date and on the kitchen table with all the paperwork our solicitor would need. I had made sure nothing was left to chance. I locked the front door, pulling it shut behind me for the very last time.

Returning to the car, I climbed into the driver's seat and pulled the seat belt across, making sure I was securely buckled in. Retrieving the tablets from my pocket, I shoved them in my mouth, swallowing them whole with a mouthful of saliva. Placing the key in the ignition, I turned the switch, putting the car into reverse for a few metres, before swinging out and facing the field beside the house.

For ten minutes I sat in the car remembering the life Daphne and I had created, our love, our happiness, our home. I could feel the effects of the tablets starting to take place and knew that it was time to act. Placing the car into gear, I pushed my foot down on the accelerator pedal, grabbed the wheel with one hand, felt the car lurch forward, and began rolling down the slope to the bottom of the field. With my other hand, I reached for Daphne, holding her hand in mine, and pushed my foot all the way to the floor.

Our increased speed at the bottom of the slope, caused the car to launch into the air and sail out over the pond. The water and thin ice exploded around us as the car hit the surface, before it sank quickly to the murky depths below. Water poured into the car, chilling my body, leaving me feeling like my flesh and bones had been pierced with a thousand needles.

I looked towards the pale sky and watched the bubbles gliding upwards towards the surface. My head was pounding as I held my breath, and my heart was beating so loudly I couldn't hear anything else in the underwater silence. The tablets prevented me from reacting, not that I wanted to. I had made my decision. By the time anyone might realise we were gone, the pond would be completely frozen over.

I felt Daphne's hand wrapped in mine, and let out my last mouthful of air. Pain seared into my chest, the buzzing in my brain reached a crescendo, and my vision began to dim. My last thought before darkness descended was that Alzheimer's may be a bitch, but I would not let it win. I would be there to make sure Daphne did not die alone. I had made a promise to her and I would keep it. Through sickness and health, for better and for worse, for all eternity.

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