Worn Out Wife Seeks New Life

by Carmen Reid

  Oh, and kissing Dave… she could just about remember that. That had been a good part too. And Dave hobbling into the fray with the fire extinguisher – what a freaking, goddam hero.

  40

  It was about a week or so before the party that Dave had moved back into Ambleside. He’d chosen to sleep in the spare room because it was downstairs and had its own bathroom, so River still had as much privacy as possible. But he wasn’t yet used to being in this room, so when he woke up at 6 a.m. the day after the-day-after-the-party and looked at the unfamiliar ceiling and then the pale green walls, it took him several moments to remember where he was. And what was that ringing sound?

  Turning his eyes towards the floor, he saw his phone flashing and ringing at him. Natalie’s was the name on the screen and 5.58 a.m. was the time. What on earth?

  ‘Natalie?’ he said, answering the call, ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘Daaaaaaaaad!’

  The heart-rending wail made Dave sit up bolt upright in bed.

  ‘Natalie? Are you okay?’

  ‘No, I need Mum! I can’t get through to Mum.’

  This was the life of dads, always the next-best parent in a crisis.

  ‘What’s happened, Natalie?’

  And as the story unfolded, Dave appreciated, yes, this was, of course, a tragedy, but it was a teenage tragedy, not an actual real-life, panic-stations tragedy. But his lovely daughter was obviously in a total state and needed sympathy and very gentle handling.

  ‘Natalie, honey, do you think there’s any way you could get just an hour or two of sleep?’ he asked. ‘It would probably really help.’

  His daughter seemed to be calming down a little now that she’d unburdened herself to her dad: ‘Maybe,’ she sobbed, ‘I want to come home.’

  ‘That’s fine, you can come home,’ Dave told her. ‘I’ll look up your flights and see what we can do. But why don’t you just put your head down for a little bit? Get a little rest.’

  And Dave, who was very keen to do exactly that himself, was on the point of winding up the call when his daughter added, ‘And Dad, have you spoken to Alex?’

  ‘Yes, he phoned just… just the other day. And he phoned your mum too. He sounds good. He sounds like he’s finally settling in and starting to enjoy himself. I’ve not heard him sound so happy for ages.’

  There was a pause from the other end of the line.

  ‘I think it’s weird,’ Natalie said.

  ‘What’s weird?’

  ‘He’s phoning you, he’s phoning Mum, he tried to phone me and Soph said he phoned her brother as well. He left me a voicemail all about how he’d found true happiness and I needed to be happy and… what’s going on with him? Do you think he’s on drugs?’

  Dave’s heart was thumping a little too fast. He should not be smoking… that much he knew. He tried to slow up his train of thoughts – Natalie had been awake all night, she was barely making sense herself, and this was probably all an enormous teenage tantrum in a teacup… but… but… she had a point. It was a little weird. And what had River told him yesterday? He was so happy that day, called every member of his family and all his favourite friends, he was so fucking happy… We were so happy. It was one of our best days.

  And then Drew had killed himself.

  Jesus Christ.

  Dave ended the call with Natalie as calmly as he could, telling her to get some sleep and promising to be in touch very soon.

  Then he threw back the covers and pulled on his jeans.

  And with a terrible sense of fear, foreboding and guilt, all he could think of was that maybe his beloved son, his darling Alex, had not been doing so well in all those short and stilted phone conversations. And maybe all those times he’d not answered, or not called back were not because he was out having a great time in London, but because he was having a terrible time and he didn’t know how to tell anyone. And maybe now, Alex was feeling better because he’d decided to kill himself. Maybe even today.

  It was very early, but Dave sincerely hoped River wouldn’t mind as he tapped on the door of the master bedroom door.

  ‘River?’ he said gently when there was no reply. ‘River?’

  ‘Go away!’ she said finally. ‘That would just be too complicated.’

  ‘No, not that!’ and if he hadn’t been in such an agitated state, he might have laughed. ‘I need to talk to you about something and it’s really important.’

  ‘Christ, Dave, it’s so early. Can this not wait?’

  ‘No!’

  He came into the room as River pulled on a big sweatshirt and pushed her eye mask to the top of her head. She didn’t yet look fully recovered from her hangover. Well, no wonder, it was six in the morning.

  ‘I need to ask you about my son,’ Dave began, ‘I don’t know if I’m being ridiculous, or if he’s feeling suicidal.’

  ‘Shit.’

  He had River’s full attention now. And for the next few minutes, he explained how hard it had been to contact Alex for weeks and how brief he’d been when they did get him and now he’d made these much happier calls to his family and to one of his friends.

  ‘I remembered what you said about your last day with Drew,’ Dave told her. ‘And I’m really starting to worry.’

  ‘Has Alex struggled before… you know, stress? Anxiety? Not handling things well?’

  ‘Yeah…’ Dave admitted. ‘His last year at school and his last year at uni. They were both nearly a disaster and we had to help him a lot.’

  ‘Is he sensitive?’ River asked next. ‘An overthinker?’

  Dave had never thought of these words to describe his son before… but somehow, they clicked into place: ‘Yes…’ he said, ‘he’s very sensitive, bless him.’

  ‘You need to get him on the phone,’ River decided.

  ‘No…’ Dave knew that phoning would not do. It would not put his mind at rest. ‘I need to get to London. I need to see him.’

  If he ordered a cab, caught a train, he estimated he could be in London before 9 a.m. No, phoning would not do. Alex rarely answered his phone anyway. Dave had to see Alex in person. He had to make absolutely sure Alex was okay. Today.

  ‘Is there anything I can do? River asked.

  ‘No… no, you’ve helped so much,’ Dave told her, as he turned to leave the room, but then he asked her: ‘And what do I say to him when I find him? What’s the right thing to say?’

  River thought of all that frantic work she’d done to keep Herb’s stubborn old Tennessean heart beating and then of Dave hopping with his plastic boot out of the kitchen with the fire extinguisher.

  ‘You’re the daddy, you’ll know what to do,’ she told him, ‘Now go get your boy.’

  Maybe because it was so long since Tess had been in a nightclub, she was in a state of hyper excitement. It was so dark and loud, so buzzing with energy and excitement. She was dancing with Larry, with Larry’s rowdy friend, who sang and clapped while he danced, and with two women Larry knew – dancers, obviously, who span and twisted and made every movement look liquid and effortless, despite their high heels and tight, sparkly dresses.

  It was too loud to say much. So she just smiled, drank chilly, lime-flavoured beers and danced, so proud of herself. Not just that she could partner Larry and understand which steps were needed, which move to make and how to make full use of the simple patterns she had learned, she was proud of herself for the lecture she’d given today.

  The UCLA campus, the lecture hall and the 200-plus students… it had all been so much more of an event than she’d expected, but even though she’d been called in at short notice, she’d been really well prepared. Having children the age of these students meant she knew how not to bore them. She had great stories, good slides, interesting info and even a meme or two to keep them entertained as they were informed. She was rewarded with genuinely enthusiastic applause from the students and a trip to a nearby restaurant with Professor Nathan, who heaped her with praise and offered her a whole series of paid lect
ures next summer.

  She had been very touched and a little overwhelmed. Her response had been to put her hands over his and tell him she would think about it.

  ‘I have things to sort out at home,’ she’d said, ‘at work and with my husband. I’m honestly not sure where we are at the moment. And adding anything other than a lovely friendship with you into the mix is probably not going to help me… or you.’

  Nathan’s smile had turned up at the edges, crinkling the kind eyes behind the glasses. ‘I’d be honoured to have a lovely friendship with you, Tess.’

  ‘Just to be clear,’ she’d smiled back, ‘a lovely friendship does not involve kissing… I’m going to blame the sunset and the Chenin Blanc for that.’

  This had made Nathan laugh. ‘Well, it was good for me… you’re the first other person I’ve kissed. Had to happen sometime. I felt like a college kid that night.’

  ‘Yes! Me too,’ she admitted, ‘but let’s not tell our college kids – they would be completely horrified.’

  ‘It’s a deal.’

  So, it had been, and was still, a wonderful day. She was far too warmly dressed for a nightclub. She could feel sweat running down between her shoulder blades, and maybe a little bit of a fresh air break was called for.

  Outside, in the breezy warmth of downtown LA, she pulled her phone out of her bag and wondered what her family was up to. Ah… messaging her by the looks of things: voicemail and texts…

  ‘Muuuuum, muuuuum…’ the tearful voicemail from Natalie began, ‘we’ve broken up. I had to break up with him… he cheated on me…’ loud sobs, ‘he cheated… I need to speak to you… I need to come home. I just want to come home…’

  And after a pause: ‘Have you spoken to Alex, Mum? He left a message. It was so weird, I don’t think he’s okay… call me, Muuuuum.’

  The texts were from Dave, and they had arrived very recently:

  Have you heard from Alex today/tonight? I’m really worried about him. Can’t get him on phone.

  * * *

  Going to London to see him.

  * * *

  Keep trying to get him.

  And the absolutely useless:

  Don’t worry… I’m probably just fretting.

  Tess scrolled through her contacts for the number of the airline she’d booked with. She’d paid for a flexible ticket, of course.

  And it was time to come home.

  41

  Alex would be lying if he said he hadn’t enjoyed planning his suicide. Finally, he felt motivated! He had a meaningful project. He was bringing certainty into his life, taking matters into his own hands and shaking off the terrible hopelessness he’d felt for weeks on end. He was no longer lying in his room, wasting his life, waiting for death to come to him. He finally had a goal and a purpose, something to work towards. In fact, he woke unusually early, got dressed and left his room in a hurry, knowing that today was the day.

  Everything else was just a distraction now. Yes, flowers, trees and the summer were beautiful and full of life for now, but what did it matter? One day, the flowers would die, the trees would fall, and the whole city would collapse into the sea, forgotten by anyone that ever lived. It was all a lie and it meant nothing. Life was ridiculous, better to do away with it than suffer it for years on end.

  No, there was nothing left to do. Nothing at all. Except die.

  As Alex rounded the last corner of the street, the railway bridge sprang into view. It wasn’t anything special: a grey, mass-produced construction for people and cars. The side of the bridge was punctuated with some boring graffiti, simple scrawls and patterns, in colours that had once been garish, but were now faded and almost gone. There was litter strewn across the pavement, old takeaway boxes and fag ends, all perfectly normal.

  But as soon as Alex reached the bridge, he stopped dead and his hands began to shake. He put a hand onto the railing to balance himself and recognised the sick and panicky feeling of anxiety building up.

  ‘Here we are…’ he told himself.

  Of course, he’d been to the bridge before. He knew the view over the side, of scrubby trees, gravel and train sleepers laid out before him, ready and waiting for him to just slip over the edge, and splatter to bits among the metal tracks.

  But now that he was here, he quailed at the idea that here, in this grimy corner of the city, he would meet his end.

  Had he really arrived at the end of his life? Would this be his final destination?

  Why had he chosen here? Why had it not occurred to him to die somewhere real and natural, somewhere with hills and trees and grass and nature all around? Why did it have to be in this ugly place?

  His heart was burning. He couldn’t breathe. The fear in his chest was too much; he thought he might throw up.

  As he stood there, slumped against the railing, he didn’t know what to think. His mind wandered from counting the number of railings on the opposite side of the bridge to examining the pattern of discarded specks of gum covering the road.

  This was not how he’d imagined it. In his mind, he’d pictured the moment as being somehow more profound. He’d thought that when the time finally came to throw himself off a bridge, he’d remember all the best things in his life, and count his blessings, and in that moment, he would somehow be peaceful and happy.

  He tried to recall all the best moments of his life. His fondest memories of the people he loved. But he couldn’t put his thoughts together into any kind of story. All that came back to him were recent memories, inconsequential conversations, like his dad talking about the chimenea. He hadn’t even been able to get through to Natalie, had left her a garbled voicemail telling her to be happy and not worry about him, or something like that. Modern life had reduced the suicide letter to a shitty voicemail.

  His head hurt from all this. Maybe dying was going to be just as confusing and pointless as being alive. But at least when he was dead, he wouldn’t have to think about all these strange and endless thoughts any longer.

  His breathing had returned to normal. His fingers trembled, but he felt strangely calm. He felt like he had thought everything, said everything, done everything, and felt every emotion he could. There was nothing left for him to feel, and now a strange numbness engulfed him, filling him with indifference. Nothing left to do. Nothing left to say.

  He stared down at the cold metal rails below. There was a rumbling noise. A train was approaching the bridge at a rapid pace.

  42

  It was 8.45 a.m. and Dave was standing in the swanky foyer of the financial services company where Alex worked. This had made sense to Dave earlier this morning, as, tired and a little befuddled, he’d taken a taxi, then a train, then an underground train to get here.

  Surely, if he wanted to see Alex, this is where he would be at 9 a.m. in the morning. Dave approached the bank of receptionists, who kept guard in front of the turnstiles where workers in smart suits were already swiping their passes and clicking in for the day.

  ‘Hi there, I’m looking for my son… it’s pretty urgent…’ Dave hoped he wouldn’t have to explain any further.

  ‘Okay… what’s your son’s name and what department is he in?’ one of the women asked.

  Dave told them Alex’s name and that he was a graduate trainee, but he couldn’t give her any further information. He didn’t know the department, of course. He realised with a pang that he should know, but that was the kind of detail he left to Tess.

  ‘I’m not finding anyone by that name… why don’t I put a quick call in to HR?’

  Several minutes went past while Dave listened to the woman asking questions. He swung between desperate anxiety about Alex and wondering if he himself had completely lost his mind. Surely any moment now, they would summon Alex and he would appear in the hallway, cheery, and astonished, not to mention embarrassed, to see his dad here.

  ‘I’m actually going to put the HR department on to you if that’s okay,’ the woman said, holding out her receiver.

  And that
was how Dave found out, even though the HR woman was bending company protocol, that Alex hadn’t been to work for nearly four months. The company had no further information. The HR department had tried to contact him by phone, email and mail and not received any reply.

  ‘Thanks very much, that’s very helpful,’ Dave said, sounding incredibly reasonable and calm, while inwardly feeling total panic.

  Nine weeks. Nine weeks? That was all the time Alex had been with the company. And it had ended four months ago! What was Alex doing? Had he found another job? Was he working? Was he unemployed? Was he able to pay his rent? Had he moved? And above all… why hadn’t he felt able to tell them? That was the biggest and most frightening question of all.

  Dave did know Alex’s address because he and Tess had dropped him off there two weeks before his job had been due to start… so he could settle into London, get his bearings, get to know his flatmates and prepare himself for the world of work.

  But was Alex there? If Dave took the underground and bus out to that address would he find his son there? Not for the first time this week, he wished Tess was home. But also, he very much wished that he could sort this out. More than that, he wanted to sort this out. He needed to find Alex.

  He looked at his phone… the battered old iPhone he’d had for four years now. Whereas Alex had a new one, bought for the new job… but he was still on the family plan.

  Dave was already hitting the button, crossing every single finger and hoping that this very simple piece of parent surveillance would still work.

  ‘Find my iPhone’, he pressed, remembering the happy days of tracking Alex during his very first trips to the pubs of Leamington.

  Please work, please work, please work, please work.