by Ana Simons
I cradle her in my arms, waiting for her to calm down, letting the next moments pass in silence.
“I’m sorry,” she starts tentatively, her hand reaching out to touch my face, “for what I’ve done to you.”
I draw back just in time and tell her sternly, “Come on, you need to sleep it off.”
“I was such an ungrateful bitch, wasn’t I?”
She was, but I don’t respond. It’s too late for any of that now and I don’t really care anymore. Instead, I reach to take hold of her hand and lead her to the room.
I sit on the bed next to her and fill the glass on the nightstand with water. Olivia’s water. The idea of how she’d feel if she saw any of this is consuming me inside and out.
“Here. Drink it and try to get some sleep.”
While I give her time to take a few sips, I drag a tense hand through my hair and rub my temples. My head is throbbing. Then my eyes fall over Olivia’s photo on the dresser, a close-up of her face and warm smile. My chest tightens even more.
A deep, pained breath leaves my lungs and I turn to Mary. “Done?”
She nods, handing me the glass.
“Who did this to you? Him?”
She touches her bruised neck and casts her eyes down, confirming my suspicions.
“You should press charges.”
“Stay with me.” She puts her hand on mine. “Please.”
I ignore the gesture and stand. “Try to rest.”
“Lie down with me. Just for a little while.”
“Good night, Mary. We’ll talk in the morning.” I turn off the light.
There’s a shiver of apprehension running up and down my spine as I stride along the hallway. My head is about to explode. This shit can’t be happening to me, is all I can think of.
The conversation I had with my father a while ago, about the thin line between lying and protecting the ones you love, is revolving in my mind like a bloody whirlpool sucking in everything around. How on earth am I going to explain this? Especially now, when all Olivia needs is peace?
Fuck.
With all these questions setting my mind into a frenzied convulsion, I feel I’m on the brink of madness. It’s so infuriating that for a moment, I can barely catch my breath.
I reach for the hem of my damp shirt and yank it off. After tossing it to the floor, I throw myself on the couch, exhausted, completely battered, wishing this was just a stupid dream and tomorrow everything could be just fine again.
*
“Brian?” A soft distant voice brushes my face and echoes gently in my head.
I can’t come right now. I’m so tired...
“Hey, handsome.”
My body is still numb to the gentle voice.
I can’t...
“Sweetheart?”
I hear another brief sigh. And feel another caress on my face.
Who’s there?
The morning light coming through the window hurts my eyes. I move my head from side to side, trying to zoom in on the blurry face that’s hovering over me.
“You fell asleep on the sofa, wake up. You’ll feel like you were run over by a car. Come to bed.”
My eyes spring open. “Olivia?”
“Sorry, I didn’t call you back right away; it was a really busy night at the clinic.” Her fingers sweep up and down my arm, gently, her smile so warm. “Then when I did, you didn’t answer. You were probably sleeping already. What was it? Your secret project? Have you finished it?”
“No, not yet,” I gasp as I feel the blood draining from my face. “What are you doing here?”
“You know, I left work this morning and… you’re right. I was wrong, I’m sorry. The truth is, after a shitty shift there’s nothing I want more than this, to crawl back into our bed, snuggle up tight against you and stay there forever. You were right, this is my home. You are my home now,” she says, so sweetly, running her fingers across my face before she brushes a light kiss on my lips.
40 TREASURED MEMORIES
“WHERE’S THE TOOL CASE, Son? They usually send an Allen key, but we may still need a screwdriver.” Scanning the room, my father flicks his eyes from one side to the other as I help him put his legs up to rest on the cushioned footstool.
“Is that better? Want me to get you a pillow?”
“I’m fine. Where’s the white wooden box I brought?”
“Maybe you left it in the living-room? I’ll go check–”
“It’s on the dresser, behind that bag. Give it to me.”
I have a quick read of the inscription on the lid,
‘Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones. A legacy is etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about you.’
SHANNON L. ALDER
I know this is meant for my children, that this box carries memories he’d share with them himself if he’d been given the opportunity.
We all know our time together is coming to an end. He’s leaving us soon, and we’re trying our best to accept the inevitable and cherish every moment we still have, either by keeping company and comforting him, listening to his endless tales or simply laughing along as we watch his favourite films together. Because nobody enjoys a good laugh more than he does. Even now.
The last couple of days have been particularly difficult; he’s been feeling very weak. But this afternoon, he mustered all his strength to come and accomplish another of his end-of-life plans. Of course, in normal circumstances there’d be plenty of time for this, as the babies shouldn’t be here before April or May, but my father has always put together all his other grandchildren’s beds. Mine should be no exception.
“No, Son! That’s the footboard. Get the headboard first and lay it there. The side facing inwards up,” he recommends when I’m still struggling to take some parts out of the huge carton packing.
“Not seeing any instructions,” I mutter, impatient.
“We don’t need one. Get the key and attach the latch brackets to the headboard first.”
I nod in agreement and follow his instruction. Then, “Hey, you? Want to watch the game together? We’re so going top of the Premier League! Aston Villa doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Yeah, let’s do that! Next, you attach the rails. That one is the drop rail, it has to go to the front,” he says as he opens the white wooden box on his lap. “It’s a shame Liv can’t be here.”
I pretend I’m focused on what I’m doing and remain silent.
“But where is she?”
“Excuse me?” I dodge.
“Olivia. Where’s she? At Evie’s?”
“Mm-hmm, resting. Another crazy weekend at work. On call this afternoon, a double shift tomorrow. She’s covering for a colleague.”
“Poor kid. Isn’t that too much?”
“But are these even the right bolts?” I ask in a slightly irritated tone.
In truth, my problem is neither the bolts nor the whole intricate project here. My problem is what happened earlier this morning. I’m so strung out I can barely get it together.
“Let me take a look.” He glances over the rim of his glasses. “No, those are for the wheels. Take the large ones.”
I nod silently.
“This box here is for your boys one day.”
I arch a questioning eyebrow at him. “Boys? If you know more than I do, I’d appreciate the information.”
“It’s just a hunch.” He gives me a sheepish grin. “I asked Mum to help me sort through the albums and we gathered some photos. There are a few recent ones, but most of them are from when you were kids.” He takes out a stack of pictures, which he begins to shuffle through.
His face brightens up with a smile when he stops at one in particular. “Look, it’s you and your sister walking around in ski boots. It was the first time you’d ever been in the snow. You should have seen the excitement on your face! Though it faded away pretty quickly when Sue scooped a handful of it and knocked you down! And look at this one, the three of us on a paddle boat. You were about
eight or nine here.
“We’ve also rounded up a bunch of Christmas photos from over the years. Here, check this one, that time we pulled a prank on Grandma Martha and wrapped up the whole Christmas tree with kitchen film during the night! Man, was she mad at me the next morning! I think she still hates me for that!”
That memory makes me smile too. That was epic indeed, I’ve never seen her so angry. “Well, that was a bit out of line, don’t you think? I’m done here. And now comes the footboard, right?”
He doesn’t answer at all. He’s lost, absolutely immersed in his own treasured memories.
“Hey, and don’t you forget to show them this one. It’s Mum, when she was expecting you.” Another wholehearted smile spreads across his face. “I knew she was the one the minute I laid my eyes on her, you know? I loved her instantly that day she slipped on the ice and fell flat on her bum right in front of me. She was laughing so hard, so hysterically. Priceless! I immediately knew she was it, that I wanted to hear those laughs forever. And that was it. Next thing I know she’d become my best friend, the person I could tell anything, the kind and loving woman who was inspiring me to be a better man.”
The box’s lid falls closed with a small clack and he looks sternly at me. “I really appreciate it, that you’re all trying to help me find peace and comfort, but you don’t need to hide stuff from me. So why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong with you?”
“What do you mean?” I act surprised.
“You’re my son and I know you well. You’re too quiet; there’s something troubling you.”
I rub my temple in a nervous movement. “Everything’s all right. I’m just focused on th–”
“Cut the bloody crap, you’re lying through your teeth! You barely said two words the whole way here and, honestly? You look like shit, as if you just got stomped on!”
He waits for my reaction, peering straight into my eyes, but I keep it to myself.
“Come on, I’m waiting.” He jerks his head up.
“Slept very little last night, that’s all.”
“If you don’t want to tell me what’s going on, all right then. But keep this in mind: regardless of what might have happened, you should always get her flowers – not some silly fancy bouquet or a cellophane wrapped thing. Any idiot can slap down a card and get those! You go and cut them yourself or put them in a pot. Then say the magic words: ‘I’m sorry’. There’s nothing that cannot be fixed if you do this.”
*
Sunday night. The reno project is finally completed.
Sitting on the nursery floor, I swirl the wine against the light and have another good sip.
‘I did what he told me, I brought her flowers,’ I think aloud, looking down at the ultrasound image in my hand. ‘But I’m not sure it helped much. She wasn’t home, no idea where she went so early in the morning.
‘Give her time and space but stay nearby, your Grandpa also advised. Which makes total sense, every guy knows that. When the woman you love is mad at you, even if you had absolutely no intention of hurting her, you deal with it as you would a storm situation: you hide under a blanket, wait until it gets quieter and then you get out to clean the mess.
‘Except that, I might just go insane if I go another day without talking to her.
‘That’s why I just called her.’
Again.
‘But of course, Dr Olivia Burke is incredibly busy working and can’t take my calls! Dammit, your mother is giving me the silent treatment and I feel like throwing the goddamn phone against the wall!’
I’m texting her.
Sunday, December 13 | 21:40
Sweetheart, I finished...
On second thought, I am not.
I’m actually tossing the bloody sodding phone.
‘Fuck this!
‘Sorry. I didn’t just say that.’
Another sip. Over the rim, the elephant continues swinging on the tree which I finished painting a little while ago.
I lean my head back against the wall, take a deep breath and close my eyes against the gut-wrenching pain rippling through me right now.
‘All right, Aston Villa 0 - Arsenal 2’, I force my mind to think of something else. ‘What a game! The Gunners really kicked their arses today. That first part was just amazing, we never took our foot off the gas! And Aaron Ramsey? Man, was he on fire! How about Wenger? After having got us that place in the Champions, he takes us now to the top of the Premier League? Fantastic!’
“Mate, you should’ve seen the gleam of happiness in my father’s eyes. Cheers to that!” I raise my glass to the wall and finish my fourth glass in one gulp.
Am I talking to a bloody elephant?
I am.
I refill my glass.
Another sip.
Another squint over the rim of the glass. “Why are you smiling at me, you little shit? You think this is funny? Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”
My eyes fall to the ultrasound image. “Sorry.”
I glance at the pictures scattered on the floor. One by one, I take another look, revisit some old memories I’d long stored away, and begin to gather them carefully back into the box.
‘Grandpa teaching me to ride a bike back in Cranleigh. We used to have a cottage there. When I was a kid, it was my favourite place in the whole world. Maybe I’ll take you there someday.
‘Visiting Arsenal Stadium – oh that was cool!
‘Family holidays in Spain. Paris. Prague.
‘I’m taking you there one day too.
‘Getting on Nana’s nerves. Yeah, filling the fridge with toilet paper is a whole lot of fun!’
Another swig.
‘Getting on Aunt Sue’s nerves? That’s even funnier! Want to scare the shit out of a girl? You leave a fake spider on her bed! Want to piss her off really badly? The possibilities are infinite: you put salt in her cereal, or you give a few good shakes to her can of pop.’ A loud laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
‘You know, most times it was Grandpa who started all this! He’s such a crazy prankster.’
I find a selfie taken on Jimmy’s wedding day. Pain overtakes me again, making me yell at myself in rage.
I swig again.
‘That’s when it all started, you know? I had no idea I was going to meet your mother again that day. She wasn’t supposed to come.’
My mind is reeling, and my head is throbbing, to the point I almost feel sick.
I hold it between both palms and wait for a little while.
‘Yesterday morning?
‘Well, I had to drag your mother out of the house as fast as I could. What else was I supposed to do? Worse than knowing there’s another woman in your bed is seeing it, I suppose. That she could only return in the afternoon because my reno project wasn’t yet ready, I told her. That I wanted it to be a surprise.
‘It was a stupid excuse, I know, but it was all I could think of so quickly.
‘Then we left.
‘But I wouldn’t come back without telling her the truth first.’
“Sweetheart, you know I love you, don’t you?” I began, at Evie’s front door, she was still rummaging for the keys in her handbag.
She reached out to brush her fingers against my stubble and left a peck on my cheek. “I love you too. Hey, want to come in? Let’s have breakfast together… Dammit! Where are the bloody keys?”
“I need to go back right away.”
“You sure you don’t need my help?”
“No.”
“What a pity. Handymen with construction tools are hot as hell.” She stifled an amused snort.
“You know you can always trust me, don’t you?”
She lifted her eyes to mine. “Why the serious face? Why are you acting so weird?”
“Hypothetically speaking – if that old boyfriend of yours came to your door one day, completely wasted, I mean, like totally dead drunk, asking for shelter, what would you do?”
She shrugged and then continued her search. “I’
d leave him to rot in the gutter. Why?”
“No, I’m serious. What would you do?”
“I don’t know. I’d send him to his parents? To some friend? What crazy talk is this?”
“No, no parents nearby. And you don’t know who his friends are anymore.”
She froze, on her face a flicker of worry threatening to morph into hurt. “What are you trying to tell me?”
“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”
“Just say it, you’re making me nervous.”
So I did. I gave her the truth.
“Oh my god.” She covered her mouth, in shock. Leaned against the door for support, “She’s still there? I almost bumped into her?”
“Liv, please. Try to understand. She was in really bad shape and I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t drop her off at a hotel, Sue is in Southampton…”
Tears formed in her eyes as she looked up at me. “Okay, just go. Deal with it. I’m exhausted, I need to get some rest. We’ll talk later.”
“Liv?” Before I could add another word, she stepped inside, the door closing behind her.
And that was it. I swallowed it hard and came home to deal with that night’s mess.
I finish my glass and pour some more wine.
The sodding bottle is almost empty.
‘But where were we?
‘Oh, the wedding photo!
‘So, who do we have here? This is Grandpa John, that’s Simon and–
‘What?
‘Mum and Dad’s story is all too confusing?
‘Okay, boys, let’s go all the way back. Let’s look again at the selfie Grandpa took at Uncle Jimmy’s wedding.
‘See this guy here on my left? All dressed up, with a swanky haircut and idiotic blank stare? That’s Simon. His wife left him the other day, he still feels like shit about it. And this guy here on my right? That’s Uncle Jimmy. We’ve known each other since forever...’
41 TRUST
A SOFT, SOOTHING VOICE tries to reach out to me through the light buzzing in my ears. I strain to turn my head. My pulse is thumping in my temples and I’ve got a god-awful headache screaming inside, demanding I leave my head right where it is, burrowed into the pillow.
