Chasing the Sun with Henry

by Gary Brockwell

  And in the months that followed when I pleaded with you to fease my mind, to agree she looked peacefully asleep when you identified her in that cold, clinical place where they put her, you remained silent. The sleepless nights, the days without food, the darkened bedroom, the white coffin – your response was always silence, when all I wanted was for you to hold me, to take the weight from my heart, even for a short while, and tell me everything was all right. When the white car was found with the dented nearside, when the driver was breathalysed, when he was found to be drunk, you remained silent, refusing to blame him; instead you listened to his tale of the blue car that caused him to swerve, that caused him to take away our angel, the day she visited her friend on her own for the first time, that day our lives were destroyed. The times Rebecca came to me, talked to me, our beautiful daughter standing at the side of the bed, you dismissed completely as tricks played by my mind, as a mother’s grief forcing me further into myself and away from you.

  I did always love you, Eddie; I just wanted you to love me equally in return. I swear, as months became years I never lost my yearning to be touched by you, desired by you and wanted by you – but you never did, and instead, I clung pathetically to any scrap of affection from you as a sign that it could still work, that you still felt the same. I cannot be sure when I finally gave up all hope, but I did; it died slowly, then it just couldn’t be seen at all.

  Eddie, this is so difficult for me to write and I have tears streaming down my face. I cannot continue to lie to you or myself; it isn’t fair on either of us. I have found someone. Someone who makes me feel wanted, desired, like a woman free to be expressive, and who is good for me. I wasn’t looking for this, it just happened a few months ago. I finally feel supported, protected and understood – all the things I have wanted for so long from you.

  Please do not try to find me; if a part of you still does love me, you will let me go, let me be happy. I do not want anything from you, Eddie – the house, the car, everything is yours; I will pick up the rest of my clothes at a later time. All I want is to be at peace with myself, to be surrounded by happiness, to feel like a fulfilled woman, and though it kills me to say it, after that November night, you were no longer able to provide these things for me.

  Please take care of yourself; you too deserve to be happy.

  Sally.

  I read the letter over and over, losing track of time, until Henry’s bark alerted me to the fact that he was still outside in the garden, staring in at me, and the night had closed in, my eyes adapting to the twilight as I read.

  I let him in, put food in his bowl and traipsed out into the hall and up the stairs, not really knowing where I was going or what I was going to do. I got under the covers of the bed in the half-light. I heard a rustling sound as my hands formed into fists once more and I realised I still held the letter tightly in my palm.

  Chapter 17

  The Queen Departs

  I do not remember Sunday. Not because I was a drunken mess, I just cannot recall the details. I know that mid-morning, I got up and let Henry out into the garden. He remained there for the day until I brought him in and gave him some food. I know I returned to bed and stayed there until the darkness of night returned. I know this was the case until Monday afternoon.

  During this time, I checked my mobile regularly, wishing for Sally to make contact, to answer the questions I had flying around inside my mind. But the phone did not respond to my desire. At one point, I even called my mobile from the landline, telling myself that a weak signal was the reason I had not received any contact. But as my mobile burst into life as I entered the last digit of its number into the phone beside the bed, I knew this wasn’t the case.

  Early Monday afternoon, in the silence, the doorbell rang out loud and prolonged. I lay on the bed. There was a pause and the noise was repeated. Still I did not attempt to move. The bell was rung for a third time, followed by banging on the door itself. Whoever it was wasn’t going to go away. From the doorstep, it must be obvious that someone was in the house, with the Party King van parked on the driveway. The phone beside the bed suddenly rang. I sat up, simply staring at it, noticing my breathing had quickened as it abruptly rang off. My mobile suddenly rang; a number I didn’t know was displayed. I stared at it as it eventually went to voicemail. The doorbell rang a fourth time, one long, final, continuous blast. It went quiet. . I wanted to go the window to see if they had definitely gone, but did not want to be seen. As I contemplated my move, my mobile bleeped with a message. I opened it and was surprised to read, Eddie, it’s Jenny – I am outside and I am not going anywhere. I sensed by her persistence that she was telling the truth. I got up, stretched my frame as I moved to the bathroom and splashed cold water onto my face. I looked at my reflection, water running down my cheeks and off my chin, and saw my features in the mirror, puffy and pale, my eyes bloodshot.

  Descending the stairs, unsure of what I was going to say to her, I stopped dead as a memory exploded into my mind from nowhere. I remembered Jennifer’s sympathy regarding the note Sally had left me, and her subsequent shock when she realised the actual content. That time in her studio with Phoebe the toy poodle, she had wanted to speak to me, but was so angry after Henry destroyed her equipment that she couldn’t. It made sense now; she knew about this, she knew Sally was leaving and had known for some time.

  I exhaled deeply and walked on toward the front door and registered Jennifer’s form through theglass. My hand pulled down the lock, opened the door and removed the barrier between us.

  Jennifer studied my face closely, gauging from my appearance how to address me.

  ‘Oh, Eddie,’ she said, biting her bottom lip.

  I must have looked worse than I imagined.

  We stood in silence, me avoiding her eyes, looking at the ground, while I sensed Jennifer continued to stare at me.

  ‘Can I come in?’ she eventually asked.

  ‘Sure.’

  I moved aside to allow Jennifer to enter the house, still staring downwards. In the kitchen, we stood in silence, avoiding eye contact.

  ‘You knew?’ I asked flatly, staring out of the window into the garden.

  ‘I knew both of you were unhappy,’ replied Jennifer cryptically.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  She didn’t answer, just gazed at the tiled wall.

  ‘But you knew she was seeing someone?’ I finally asked.

  Jennifer looked up at me. ‘Yes, I knew,’ she admitted.

  ‘And you didn’t think to tell me?!’ I roared at her.

  ‘Eddie, it’s not my place to tell you.’

  ‘I think it is!’

  Jennifer shook her head.

  ‘What about that time you said you wanted to talk to me?’

  ‘Sorry, when?’

  ‘When Henry wrecked your studio chasing that poodle Phoebe around. You said you wanted to speak to me but didn’t.’

  Jennifer nodded her head in recollection. ‘I admit; my instinct was to say something to you,’ she said, ‘to give you some idea of how unhappy Sally was. But Henry’s destruction ruined that thought. Perhaps it was fate causing the distraction, telling me not to become involved.’

  ‘You should have told me. It was your obligation,’ I argued.

  ‘No it wasn’t, it’s your marriage and Sally is my friend. I listened to her, told her to think carefully, but to ultimately make sure what she was doing was right for her and for you.’

  ‘For me? How can it be right for me? She has left, she hasn’t tried; she’s run out.’

  ‘Eddie, she did try, you know she did – she tried for years,’ she said, turning toward me.

  She looked at my hand and I followed her gaze. I hadn’t realised I had picked up the letter again before I came downstairs.

  ‘This was the letter you thought you would see last week w
hen you came round?’ I asked.

  Jennifer nodded.

  ‘You can read it if you want,’ I offered again, as on Saturday.

  ‘No, it’s personal, not my place to,’ stated Jennifer.

  ‘Why did you come around, then? To rub my nose in it?’

  ‘Eddie, that’s unfair to say,’ she protested.

  ‘Is it? Is it really? You came round on Saturday and when you didn’t see the scenario you expected, you left very quickly. Go on, read it!’ I yelled, holding out the letter at arm’s length, as my hand began to tremble.

  I screwed up my eyes and saw stars, and felt hot liquid start to form behind them. I lowered my arm and in my blindness, felt Jennifer standing closer before me, felt her embrace, felt her hand rubbing my back in a soothing circular fashion.

  ‘I came because I thought it was wrong, after all these years, for her to leave you via words on paper,’ she whispered gently, as my body and breathing relaxed.

  I rested my head on her shoulder, content for her to take the weight of this pain for a moment, content just to breathe.

  Minutes passed until Jennifer pulled back from me slightly, forcing me to look up, but I refused to meet her eyes.

  ‘Eddie, look at me,’ she said sternly.

  I eventually obliged.

  ‘We all deserve to be happy, Eddie. If both people in a marriage are unhappy and cannot find a way out of that, it stands to reason one will find happiness elsewhere before the other.’

  She said no more, she didn’t have to, and I replayed the words Gus had said to me those short weeks ago among the Whispering Rocks – Sally deserves to be happy too.

  What would I be doing now if I hadn’t witnessed Clifford and Mary’s long-standing love in the hospital ward? I would probably be shopping for new boxer shorts, a new shirt and shoes. I would have already checked my nose thoroughly for unsightly nasal hair and clipped the hairs under my arms to a neat length to ensure any redness or soreness would have disappeared by Wednesday and my time in an airport hotel with Cerys Sindon.

  ‘You do seem pretty together.’ lied Jennifer ‘Are you really okay?’ she added.

  I nodded, keeping my thoughts to myself.

  ‘Are you eating?’ asked Jennifer, glancing at the kitchen clock.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Well, you need to eat something.’

  She headed to the fridge and retrieved eggs, ham and salad as I watched.

  ‘Omelette?’ she offered.

  ‘Okay.’

  Ten minutes later I ate the food as Jennifer went through my diary for the week and cancelled all my appointments via the house phone. In fairness, there were only a few; the weeks before the schools break for the summer holidays are always quieter.

  ‘Have you met him?’ I asked later as I washed up.

  Next to me, Jennifer shook her head and glanced at the clock once more.

  ‘Do you know anything about him?’ I quizzed.

  Again, she shook her head.

  ‘You must know something. Is he tall, short, young, old, thinning on top, a drinker, a smoker, into sports, self-employed? She must have told you some detail about him?’ I argued.

  ‘Sorry, nothing.’

  ‘I know she is gone, I am just curious, that’s all.’

  Jennifer remained silent.

  ‘I am sure Sally will be forthcoming when she is ready,’ she eventually replied.

  ‘I bet she will,’ I hissed.

  Jennifer was poised to answer, when the doorbell rang. She stepped into the hallway quickly and looked at the front door.

  ‘That’s Faruk,’ she said after studying the figure deformed behind the frosted glass.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The man I worked with at the animal rescue centre. He was waiting for me outside.’

  I didn’t speak.

  ‘We have started to date,’ stated Jennifer, building on her earlier comment.

  ‘Oh, I see. That explains you not being around on Saturday evenings then.’

  Jennifer gave a half-smile. ‘It’s early days yet.’

  The doorbell rang again.

  ‘Will you be okay, Eddie, if I leave? I told Faruk I would be…’ She trailed off, not finishing her sentence.

  ‘Only ten minutes?’ I offered, and smiled.

  ‘No, I didn’t mean…’ Jennifer started to say.

  ‘I am teasing you, Jennifer!’

  ‘But I shouldn’t have said it,’ she protested.

  ‘I am fine; think I have cried until there is nothing left in me, and I feel better after the food and what you said about being unhappy.’

  ‘I feel awful now! Will you be all right?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, it made sense.’

  ‘Will you really be all right?’ she repeated.

  I put my hands up and told her again that I was fine. ‘Seriously, you go. Thanks for coming, I appreciate it.’

  ‘I hate leaving you like this,’ Jennifer said.

  ‘Don’t keep your date waiting!’ I said with a grin.

  She gave me a hug and whispered for me to be kind to myself, to give myself a break.

  ‘I am sorry it is like this, Eddie, but it will be for the best in the long term, for both of you,’ she added as we parted.

  As she got to the door she stopped.

  ‘You must have a good memory, Eddie.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘I didn’t remember the name of that poodle,’ she said.

  I couldn’t tell her the reason I recalled that yappy creature’s name so easily. And as she closed the door behind her I knew exactly what I had to do, and who I had to see.

  I showered, shaved, put Henry out and was on my way in twenty minutes.

  The track was dry as I swung into it; there had been no rain since April and it had taken its toll on the landscape. The house was so far up the winding private lane that it wasn’t visible from the main road; probably the reason he bought it, I mused. I had been here on only a few occasions over the years, and never without Sally. Today would be a first. I did not remember being here before at this time of year. I didn’t recall the giant beech and chestnut trees full of green cover that filtered the light as they rustled audibly in the faintest of breezes that provided temporary relief from the growing humidity. Nor had I seen the climbing red and yellow roses covering a circular frame to the left of the house, which had now come into view around the last bend of the lane. The house suited its surroundings; it looked right there, like it truly belonged with its whitewashed walls, green-painted window frames and asymmetrical style.

  I knocked at the door and listened to the birdsong that filled the air as I waited. I knocked again; there was still no response. His car was parked in front of the garage – I was quite sure he wouldn’t go anywhere with it – and a pair of wellington boots with a fine layer of dust on the toes sat next to the side door hinted at recent use.

  I walked around the side of the house and wandered into the rear garden. It was beautiful. A perfect lawn, lush thanks to a continuous feed of moisture soaked under its surface, stretched to an area of mature trees. The grass looked so healthy, I presumed, due to a blatant disregarding of the district hosepipe ban imposed in the past few months in an effort to conserve water. But who would know in this place that the law had been breached, that something was wrong? Flanking the lawn on both sides lay deep beds; full to bursting with speckled colours, examined and probed by countless honey bees.Behind the flowers an avenue of trees acted as a border to the property, through which, the ripening golden barley in the fields beyond could be glimpsed.

  I headed toward the mature trees at the end of the garden and once under their protection, remembered they marked roughly the halfway point of the garden. Here were p
lanted out vegetable plots, four huge quadrangles of raised beds containing ripening produce, some visible in the muggy air, the branches and stems bending, already heavy with fruits or flowers; others, with only their green foliage on show, lay hidden and incubated by the warmth of the cocooning soil. And as with the flower beds behind the trees, honey bees busied around, buzzing as they foraged.

  A wall of hawthorn acting as a windbreak marked the end of the vegetable plot, and through an arch cut into them I could see outhouses marking the very end of the garden. The three single-storey buildings were positioned in a half-hexagon shape, and as I neared them, I remembered a sunset I had witnessed before here, looking west over the barley fields that stretched to the horizon.

  I saw him seated through the bank of windows in the smallest building, concentrating on a task, and strode to the door, suddenly rushing, suddenly anxious and ready for confrontation. I twisted the handle of the wooden door but it stuck, resulting in a mere rattle instead of a dramatic entrance I had intended. I tried it again, gripping it more tightly, but still it would not open. I tried a third time, with my shoulder pressed against the wood, and suddenly I was through. As the door opened, I stumbled gracelessly into the room, the force knocking me off balance. I stood up straight and calmly closed the door behind me, which shut without sticking. The room was full of a stifling heat.

  The smell of toxic glue also filled the air, and I stared at him as he continued his task I had witnessed outside unabated. Laid out upon a bench was a half-built model of a Lancaster bomber. The grey plastic shell looked nothing like the painted image on the front of the box for the kit, which also sat on the table. In his hands he held a wheel and a length of thin plastic, which he was pressing together with his fingertips.