Diane Clement’s Last Broadcast

By Dan Eady

The oar moved silent through the water, only just breaking the satin-like surface.

This was a moment that Diane wanted to bottle and live in forever, the moment just before dawn when the water and the sky met on the horizon in an infinite blue. Stars filled the sphere and Diane, despite living a long life that had seen it all - still looked upon this in absolute awe.

She rubbed at her wrist, an old injury still giving her grief - another one of the many joys of aging.

Tonight would be her final news broadcast. She wasn't the presenter - as apparently no one wants a sixty six year old, short haired and lined faced woman reading them the news. She learned over time (as presenters came and went) that she had a far more important job, she was the live show producer. Every move, cut, live switch was controlled by her.

She had lived in the world of broadcast news for nearly 38 years - she had been there when pivotal moments in her country’s history took place; when Aramoana happened, the Cave Creek disaster, the Mosque shootings, but also there when the entire world shared in the same shock, confusion and fear; when the Towers fell and when London and Madrid were in the grip of terrorist attacks.

Tonight she would sign off and then it would all be over; but not the news - the world continued to spin in its cycle of what often now feels like whiplash insanity from one ridiculous headline to the next, but her part in it would be over, like a screen flicking to black.

Her mind went to their impending trip- which Claire was more excited for than Diane; which she put down to her early journalism career, being shoved into small twin engine aircraft and helicopters regularly.

She moored the small boat, rubbed at her wrist and headed inside, her occupation had many upsides, like affording a lakeside second home where she was looking forward to spending all of her time now. The city apartment had been on the auction market since she knew the date of her final broadcast and there had been a lot of interest so far.

She headed inside through the kitchen. Milly the Bichon would be waiting patiently for her morning walk. Diane was always the one to do it, as her wife Claire slept soundly upstairs. Their morning ritual had remained unchanged for the last few months.

Claire too had retired just last April, her hands no longer steady enough to perform the surgeries she used to do - the bonus of a surgeon wife also makes the lakeside home mortgage free. 

Claire had wanted desperately to travel but in Diane’s world time off wasn’t really a thing but now, tickets to Europe and stop off in Vietnam on the way back had been procured and Claire had already made an almost too detailed itinerary. Despite the organised and orchestrated chaos of Diane’s work - that she commanded like a conductor, outside of work she much preferred to just go with the flow, let whatever happens just do its thing.

Milly was waiting, as expected. Diane changed into her walking shoes and grabbed Milly’s lead from the hook in the entrance way. This was enough to get Milly’s little stumpy tail wagging.

‘Come on then little Miss.’ Diane gave a small glance up the stairs to where Claire would be sleeping before she opened the door. Milly scampered out, probably desperate for that morning wee, and Diane followed.

The sun was now edging over the horizon, it shimmered between the boughs of the tree lined street. Their nearest neighbours, the Sanders family were stirring already, the kitchen lights on and their sprinkler system spat at their lawns.

Diane purposefully left her phone at home when she went on her morning walks; no music, no podcasts, no distractions - just the sounds of the Weweia chuttering on the morning breeze.

Milly sniffed at every bush she could find but led the way, Diane enjoying the cool air on her face. She tried not to think too much about the rest of the day, the momentousness of the occasion was not lost on her but she was never much for excessive celebration.

They walked back together, the dawning sun firing at their eyes. As they passed the Sanders’ house, Alison was outside, as always looking far too made up for just before seven in the morning. She waved out, ‘Morning girls!’

Diane was sure she only talked to her because she absolutely loved Milly, which worked in their favour as they often dropped Milly there if that had a late night event or Claire had an overnight trip. One time Claire had barely said goodbye before Milly tore off through the Sanders front door and made herself at home on their furniture.

‘So, it's your last day today isn’t it?’ Alison shielded her eyes from the sun as she spoke.

Diane was still trying not to focus on that, ‘Just another day at the coalface.’

‘Except you don't go back tomorrow.’ Alison interjected with a knowing smile.

Diane opted to simply smile back, her face giving nothing internal to her mindset about the sheer gravity of tonight’s broadcast away.

Alison bent down and scuffled behind Milly’s right ear, which sent her left foot tapping happily, ‘We would love for you to come over and play Milly!’ she said with that child-like voice everyone does for dogs, ‘In fact - why don't you live with me forever precious pup!’

Diane watched on with a smile, this was a happy distraction from the rest of her day. Alison stood up again, still shielding the sun from her eyes, ‘Claire told me you guys are going on holiday soon,’ she reached out and clasped Diane’s arm, which she didn't expect. ‘Milly could stay with us maybe?’

For some reason Diane’s mind went to what if Milly doesn't ever want to leave again? ‘Oh that would be fantastic!’ said Diane, although she may have overdone the enthusiastic tone.

Alison looked pleased as punch as she threw a thumb over her shoulder towards their expansive house, ‘Shane, me and the kids are heading off to Whangamatā later this morning, should be a fun day - hopefully the kids can get a swim in!’

Diane was pretty sure the kids should be in school and that driving to Whanngamatā for a swim seemed a little ridiculous, but thought better of mentioning them.

‘Well I should get back to Claire, I promised her we would go out for breakfast together - which is rare.’ Alison smiled and Diane spotted a glint of a tear in her eye, ‘Ooooh I am so excited for you both!’ Diane could feel her own excitement burgeoning but not being one for grand displays she waved to Alison and clicked her fingers for Milly to follow suit.

***

The inside of the house felt warm, almost stifling.

Diane removed her windbreaker and shoes as a light sweat touched her skin.

Milly went off to guzzle water messily and Diane flicked the kettle on. The end of the kitchen bench seemed to have become the resting place of bills and other mail which Diane flicked through, behind her the kettle worked its way to its noisy crescendo.

None of the mail was ever for her. The life as the wife of a highly regarded spinal surgeon sometimes was an invisible life - and she wanted it that way, most of the time.

From the kitchen you could see the lake and the Weweia were coasting through the water. Milly was now devouring kibble, crunching away as Diane put one Earl Grey tea bag in her cup and one Lady Grey in Claire’s. She picked them both up and headed up the stairs to the bedroom. She got to the landing and turned back to see Milly, waiting at the bottom expectantly, as if she was waiting to be invited up, which was unlike her.

‘Come on then miss.’

Milly bounded up between Diane’s feet. She stopped outside the door to the main bedroom. Not because the door was shut, it was slightly ajar - as Diane had left it.

From the hallway Diane could see the shaft of sunlight that cut through the bedroom window, that same sunlight that tended to wake Claire up every morning. It was by design that Diane would leave the blind up.

Milly still stood just outside the doorway, she gave a small whine. Thinking nothing off it, Diane stepped past her and pushed into the silent bedroom.

Utterly silent. No stirring of Claire, or snoring.

Diane placed the cups of tea on the dresser and went about the routine of opening the rest of the blinds. When she would do that she would turn to see a dishevelled and half awake Claire - which amused her to no end, how someone could wake from up to nine hours of sleep and look like they fell backwards through a hedge.

Milly was still in the doorway, her face almost fearful of entering and she shivered ever so slightly.

It was not cold.

The silence was the first thing that really hit her. Not just the lack of snoring, but a heavy, dead silence that seemed to absorb all the normal sounds of the house. That stifling feeling now settled around Diane’s neck like a weight - a noose even.

Diane pulled the cord on the final blind. The room was flooded with the rising sun, yet again Claire did not stir.

‘Claire?’ Diane’s voice was too loud in her own head, a small, tentative crack in the vast stillness.

She turned to the bed. Claire was indeed sleeping soundly, curled on her side facing the window, just as she always did. But there was something wrong with the picture. The sunlight wasn't disturbing her; it was simply bathing her. Claire’s usual disheveled state wasn't there; her silver hair was flattened unnaturally against the pillow.

Diane walked to the bedside, her movements suddenly heavy and slow, like walking through deep water. She saw the lack of the tiny, rhythmic movement in Claire's shoulders—the rise and fall she had taken for granted for the last twenty eight years.

Her mind, which could track five live camera feeds, cue a dozen reporters, and process a breaking global story in seconds, seized up. Only one singular thought ran through her mind.

This is not a breaking headline, screaming in from nowhere, This is not a technical glitch, but I need to fix this, somehow.

She reached out and placed her trembling hand on Claire’s shoulder, intending to shake her awake. The skin beneath her fingers was warm from the covers but held a frightening, damp stillness. The temperature was wrong. Milly slowly came around the corner of the bed, her ears were back and her shining eyes watched Diane with keen interest.

 Her thumb brushed Claire’s neck, searching with a desperate, professional urgency for the flutter of a pulse.

There was nothing.

Diane stood by the bed, the two cups of untouched tea cooling on the dresser, their fragrant steam the only life left in the room. Her body felt cold, even as the stifling heat of the morning pressed in. Thirty-eight years of news production had trained her for shock, confusion, and fear—she was the eye of every storm—but none of that training applied here. She couldn't cut to a break. She couldn't issue a correction. The detailed itinerary of their future, which Claire had spent hours planning, had just been permanently canceled.

A soft, keening mournful whine came from Milly.

Diane knelt slowly, her eyes locked on the dog as Milly came around the end of the bed.

‘Oh, little Miss,’ she whispered, her voice a hollow rasp. She took a deep, shuddering breath as the world — their world briefly stopped turning.

Diane stepped away from the bed, stepped away from the deathly stillness of her wife. The seething drone of thousands of bees filled her ears, her own body floating momentarily, the blurred corners of her vision keeping the bounds of unconsciousness at bay.

After what felt like a terrible sequence of hours but was only mere seconds the buzzing subsided, leaving a sharp, ringing clarity. Diane focused on the still steaming cups of tea, still promising a morning that would not happen ever again. The detailed future itinerary was not just canceled; it was rendered obscene.

She couldn’t fix this — but she could control it.

The answers and decisions locked into place with remarkable clarity.

She didn't call the police. She didn't call an ambulance. She simply bent down and kissed the cheek of her wife, and used everything within her to hold back against the flood. She went back downstairs, grabbed her car keys, and stood at the kitchen bench writing decisively on two small notes.

One was a lie, the other a final headline she was producing for the world. It was clean, simple, and required no immediate questions.

***

Milly watched from the base of the stairs as Diane scooped up some food, water bowl and the dog's favourite chew toy.

‘Come on, pup,’ Diane said, her voice thick with sadness as she clipped the lead onto Milly's collar. ‘One last walk.’

The walk to the Sanders' house was quick, the sprinklers were still spitting onto the lawn. They had left for their trip and upon their return the truth of Diane’s decision would be made clear.

She attached one of the notes to the porch handle, put Milly’s toy, food and water bowl beside the mat, and gave the Bichon a final, fierce hug, burying her face in the soft, white fur.

‘Be a good girl,’ her voice broke on the last two words.

She turned quickly and almost ran back to her house. As she got to her own front door, she glanced and saw Milly standing patiently by the closed door, waiting for an invitation to enter.

The sun was fully up, mocking the earlier blue hour she'd wanted to bottle. She went back into the silent house, not going upstairs but headed out through the kitchen and laundry, straight for the boathouse. The only item she took was the thick, rough blanket from the bottom of the linen cupboard.

She placed the blanket in the boat, she surveyed the now shining lake, glinting with sunshine. Behind her, tall reeds obscured the sight of the woman standing by the lake, throwing her phone out into the shining depths. And no one would see what she was about to do next.

One final, terrible set of tasks was now before her.

She would wait until the sun went down, but for now she would sleep.

The stairs up to the bedroom were like an insurmountable mountain pass, what felt like hours passed as she made her ascent.

Diane entered the bedroom, the air in there now thick with despair. She pulled back the thick duvet and she lay down behind her wife. Her arm over Claire’s waist and the absence of the rise and fall of their shared breaths tore a hole in the very fabric of Diane’s world.

She closed her eyes and waited for the last night to come.

And in her dreams the stars lit the way.

***

The sun had fled the day, as if ashamed it had no beauty to shine down upon.

It took almost an hour to get Claire down the stairs and outside. She felt almost unnaturally strong, the canister of leftover pills from her wrist injury a few months ago having done their job

She placed Claire down, and gently folded her hands on top of one another; those same hands that had saved countless lives and performed what some may call miracles.

In Diane’s line of work they never performed miracles, just informed others of them.

She eased the boat out onto the water and stepped in. She placed herself behind Claire, her head propped against her chest and rowed out backwards.

Once they reached the middle of the lake, Diane tipped the remnants of the pills into her mouth, filled the palm of her hand from the still waters and swallowed them down.

The Weweia had disappeared for the night and the crickets and frogs had come out to serenade the stars.

The oar moved silently through the water one last time. The movement created a gentle rocking back and forth, side to side as Diane took in the sky above, her arms wrapped around Claire.

The water was now completely motionless - tideless, nothing to measure the beats of their hearts against, as Diane’s head finally tipped back.

There in the small boat they both lay, entwined in each other as the surface of the water met the edge of the stars.

THE END

Author Bio: Dan Eady a New Zealand writer, and his work, which often reflects the quiet intensity of his semi-rural environment. His work has appeared in publications such as Pulp Lit Mag, Wicked Shadow Press, The Dark Corner magazine, and New Zealand’s Circular Literary Magazine.

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