Part Forty-Four: Jonah
The strong, clear light of early morning gave way to the gentler brightness of midday and still Cesca slept on. Jonah stayed still, not daring to move even a centimetre in case he should wake her and waking her was the last thing he wanted to do. She seemed calm now, serene, content almost and, above all, blissfully unaware of the storm which Jonah was sure was approaching.
He knew exactly what was going to happen. He'd been wide awake all morning and he'd seen Mrs. Fisher look through the glass panel in the door, watched as her eyes had roved over him and Cesca. For a moment, there had been compassion in her face and then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it had gone, to be replaced with a look of stern determination. Jonah hadn't seen what happened next, after she moved away from the door, but he could imagine it all too well. He could see her in his mind's eye as she dialled a number, just three little digits which would determine his future, and raised her phone to her ear. For the briefest of seconds, he allowed himself to hope that she might perhaps have decided not to call the police, might have just walked out of the hospital, might have simply decided to let them be, but, deep down, he knew that she hadn't. It wasn't within her personality to do so. Karen Fisher was a woman who followed rules absolutely. She was strict, she had little time for those who lived in a way which she didn't agree with. And her dislike of Cesca was no secret. Of course she had called the police. It was just a matter of time until they arrived.
Against his chest, Cesca stirred in her sleep and Jonah willed her not to wake up just yet. He didn't want her to know what was going to happen, wanted to protect her from that at least. The child in her arms was stirring too and, without fully waking up, Cesca held her daughter closer to her and murmured something reassuring. Cesca was so natural with Beatrice. The two of them seemed to share a connection which was deep and binding and unbreakable already. The thought that they would soon be parted from each other was unbearable.
Yet, at the same time, Jonah had resigned himself to it. His instinct had always been to live in the moment, to be concerned with the present and ignore thoughts of the past or future, but Cesca thought differently. She was always planning, thinking ahead and, some of her way of thinking had started to influence Jonah. He felt able to look to the future now. He was secure in the knowledge that Cesca loved him and that their separation, however hard, would be temporary. They would be together someday, would raise their daughter together someday.
And he felt tired, tired of always sneaking around, always hiding, always running. He didn't have the energy to fight the world anymore.
'They're coming, aren't they?' Cesca had woken up properly now and was looking at him, her dark eyes filled with acceptance of the inevitable.
He nodded, suddenly unable to speak, fighting the urge to cling to her. He felt as though he was stood on the deck of a sinking ship, unable to stop what was happening, able only to hold on for as long as he possibly could before he was swallowed by the murky waters below.
He saw Cesca swallow hard, visibly compose herself. 'I wish the world would just leave us alone.'
'I wish that too.' For the briefest of instants, he imagined taking Cesca and Beatrice and just running as far and as fast as he could, but even as he thought it he knew it would never work.
'You will wait for me, won't you? You won't go off with some pretty sixth former?' Cesca was doing her best to keep her tone light, but she couldn't conceal the edge of barely controlled panic in her voice.
'I'll be waiting for you. Always.' He could barely get the words out.
'And you'll take care of our baby. You won't let her forget me.'
'Of course she won't forget you.' Tears were sliding down his face now.
Cesca was crying too. She nestled closer to him, arms wrapped around the baby. 'I love you,' she whispered 'I love you both so, so much.'
'And I love you.'
He kissed her then. It was long and lingering and desperate in a quiet sort of a way. He never wanted it to end, but, of course, it did, and, asif on cue, two policemen stepped into the room.
'Francesca Montoya?' One of them asked.
Jonah wanted her to deny it, to pretend to be someone else, give a false name, but she didn't. Somehow, she had composed herself enough to stand up and kiss her daughter. Then she handed Beatrice to him and he saw that she was shaking, that silent tears were running down her cheeks. He took the baby and kissed Cesca quickly. Neither of them spoke, there was nothing to say, but they held one another's gaze for a long moment and communicated more in that moment than they could ever have said with words.
Then she was gone. Just like that. A half-remembered line of poetry made its way into Jonah's mind; 'This is how the world ends, not with a bang but with a whimper...' He sank down onto the bed, feeling empty and more alone than he ever had before. Cesca had gone.
Beatrice began to cry, a loud keening wail which told not of hunger or thirst, but of loneliness as desperate and complete as his own, a yearning for Cesca which he felt all too vividly.
'Hush now, baby girl...' he whispered to her 'It's ok, everything's ok...' They both knew he was lying.
'Jonah.' Marcus' voice, firm and resonant, came from the doorway. Anger flooded through Jonah, but only for a second. In spite of himself, he felt something akin to relief at seeing his father. On some level, he hated Marcus for allowing Karen to call the police, but, on another level, he was just glad that someone had come to take him home.
