The Lost Wife: An uplifting page-turner about grief, love and friendship

by Mansell, Anna

  ‘Was it him?’ asks Greg.

  ‘I…’ But now I doubt it myself. I scan the street up and down. I check this side in case he made it across and is coming towards me. But I can’t see him anywhere. Was he there or was it just someone that looked like him? ‘I don’t know…’ I relent eventually.

  Greg squints as if to get a better look for himself. ‘God, how weird. If it was, he doesn’t look good. In fact, I’d go as far as to say he looks worse now than he did at the…’ Greg’s sentence trails off as he realises he’s about to talk about the funeral. We don’t talk about the funeral.

  ‘I’ve got to fetch Oli,’ I say, making my excuse to leave. As I head up the street to the car park, I keep looking around me, just in case. If it was Simon, he’s nowhere to be seen now. If it was Simon, what was he doing there, just standing, watching? Did he mean to visit, or was he passing from one pub to the next, as Lisa had suggested?

  Throughout the journey across town to pick up Oli, I wrap myself up in ‘what ifs’, so that by the time I approach the nursery, I’ve lost track of focus. I’m zipping through traffic, catching sight of myself in the rear-view mirror. Eyes I don’t recognise stare back: wild, tired, manic; eyes that don’t belong to me any more. Or not to the man I was. The face too, older, paler, more angry. Grief and hurt are etched across my brow, my cheeks, my mouth turns down.

  I lurch into the car park for the nursery, dazed. I park up and climb out. I have no memory of the journey here. Was it Simon? Surely he’d have come over if it was? I reach the heavy front door and bang on it for someone to let me in. I fly into the baby room, marginally relieved to see that I’m not the last one to be picking up. ‘I made it!’ I say, pulling Oli’s bag from the peg.

  Perhaps my face gives away my mood.

  ‘Ed, are you okay?’ asks Rachel, concern etched over her face.

  ‘Yes, just… wanted to make sure I wasn’t late.’

  ‘You’re not!’ she says, peering at me. ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I lie, rubbing at the back of my neck. ‘Long day. Busy job.’

  ‘Oh, um, okay.’ She takes a step towards me, seeking out eye contact that I avoid. ‘Oli’s had another good day, he loves the book corner, and we did some painting today, too. Well, I painted his hands, placed them on the paper and rubbed them about a bit… look.’ She points over to a wall of finger-painted sugar paper, each one a mix of colours which ultimately looks a sort of streaky, greeny-brown. ‘It’s a tractor,’ she says, but I think she might be joking.

  ‘Great, that’s…’ I can feel myself going again, but I won’t. Not two nights in a row.

  Rachel steps towards me, reaching out as if she wants to guide me to a seat, but I need to leave. The room is closing in; this conversation is too.

  ‘If he’s ready, I’d like to get straight off. Lots to do, you know?’ It’s like I’m outside myself looking in, not hearing my voice in my own head. Everything’s louder and quieter in equal measure. Everything’s fogged.

  ‘Oh, of course. Here… His bag’s packed, his diary’s in there too. We could do with some more nappies tomorrow, if possible.’ She’s moving around the room as I edge closer to the door.

  ‘More nappies. Sure.’

  ‘Here,’ she says, pointing to Oli, reminding me that he’s not in my arms. She picks him up from a playmat where he’s gazing at an arch of dangling zoo animals. I reach to take him from her, putting him between us, protecting me, that tiny human shield again.

  Silence envelops us. I need to leave, I want to run, I need to thank her for her help, her kindness, but I also want to hide.

  ‘This is hard, right?’ I eventually say, facing the door. Through the glass, I see her face reflected. A look of sympathy, of pity, it almost breaks me. ‘Please, don’t!’ I pull open the door. ‘I am barely holding it together as it is. Your understanding, your kindness, it makes things worse somehow.’

  ‘Sorry, Ed. I guess I’m not sure I know what else to do. I get it, you know? It’s as though everyone looks at you with pity in their eyes.’

  ‘They do.’

  ‘They care.’ She comes beside me, taking the door to hold it open. ‘You could talk to someone, get some counselling maybe. Take walks, read,’ she says.

  ‘I can’t concentrate on anything.’

  ‘You will. In time. And the talking might help.’

  Oli gives her a gummy grin as she strokes his face, and I’m overwhelmed with gratefulness that, if nothing else, he has her in his life.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘I didn’t mean to offload. Again.’

  ‘It’s fine. I’d say that’s what I’m here for, but it probably sounds weird.’

  ‘A little,’ I try and joke.

  ‘If I can do anything, though.’ She fixes me with a serious look. ‘Anything at all.’

  ‘Work out where my brother is?’ I say, flippantly. ‘Or why my sister-in-law wants to poison the memory of my wife?’ Rachel’s eyes widen and I wish I could take it back. ‘Ignore me. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Okay, and hey, try talking to her.’

  ‘My sister-in-law?’

  ‘Your wife,’ she answers simply. ‘I’ve always found it helps with Mum. When I’m stuck. I mean, I know it’s not the same…’

  ‘It’s not,’ I clip, then wish it hadn’t come out quite so sharply. ‘Look, sorry, maybe you’re right. And I appreciate it. I appreciate you. It’s nice having someone who understands.’

  Rachel colours slightly. ‘Go home,’ she says, gently. ‘Try to sleep. Tomorrow is a new day.’

  I nod. ‘Thanks, Rachel. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Strapping Oli into his seat in the back of the car, I get a tingling across the back of my neck. A sense that I’m not alone. ‘Why were you in his car, Ellie?’ I ask into the evening sky. ‘And why would Lisa suggest there was a reason I should know about? And why won’t Simon face up to what he has done and talk to me? What’s going on?’

  But the sky doesn’t answer; it offers no defence. And, harder than that, I realise, is that my heart doesn’t either. For the first time since the accident, I question more than just why was Ellie in Simon’s car. Now I’m questioning her, too. And she’s not even here to answer.

  Fourteen

  Rachel

  ‘Rachel, I’ve just realised the perfect career for you. I don’t know why it took us so long to work it out. Meet me at Annie’s, I’m going to surprise you with the news over a burger and a strawberry milkshake.’

  ‘I’d rather have a beer.’

  ‘Ungrateful!’

  ‘Okay, okay. Strawberry milkshake it is. If I agree with you, we can always progress to a beer!’

  ‘Beer? I’m watching my waistline!’

  ‘At Annie’s Burger Shack?’ I ask, incredulous.

  ‘Shush! What you having?’

  ‘Thin Lizzy with curly fries.’

  ‘Cool, see you in twenty?’

  ‘Twenty.’

  I hear her pick up her bag and keys as she hangs up and can picture her slinging boots and a coat on as she heads out of the door and through the Lace Market. My mouth waters at the prospect of burger, but my heart flutters at the prospect of Mo coming up with the perfect career move at exactly the point I don’t want to move. More than anything, because she will insist on knowing why I’ve gone cold on the idea of leaving work. Something I’m not sure I’ve entirely processed myself. It’s just a feeling.

  ‘Science Teacher!’ Mo declares, when we meet up, placing her hands palm down on the table, fait accompli. ‘It’s so obvious now, I can’t believe we’ve been faffing for these last few weeks. You like all that geeky science shit. You did a bit of archaeology—’

  ‘Which is nothing like science…’

  ‘Minor detail. My point is, you can do clever stuff. And science means you can teach kids how to make potions.’

  ‘Are you mistaking science teaching with Hogwarts?’

  ‘They’re not recruiting,�
�� she smart alecs back.

  I roll my eyes just as our order is placed down before us. It makes us pause our conversation to admire the beauty that is a burger, with actual gravy, in a bun. ‘Sweet Jesus, I love Annie’s Burger Shack. Frankly, you could tell me any job in the world while I’m eating this; I literally would not care.’

  ‘I know, right,’ mutters Mo through burger, chips and milkshake. ‘Okay.’ She swallows. ‘So, science teacher. I’ve looked it up, you can do several things. Here are your choices. Science at uni level – bit grown up – I’d avoid. Science at senior level – exams, hormones – avoid. Science at junior school, however, v. v. cool.’

  ‘I don’t know if I want to stay working with children, Mo.’

  ‘Science, though, that’s cool, isn’t it?’

  I take a bite of burger, gravy, mushroom, onion and beef coming together in some kind of northern symphony in my mouth. ‘Mmm, I’m definitely trying the one with Yorkshire pudding next time.’

  ‘Filth!’ Mo looks disgusted.

  ‘Filth? This from the woman with pineapple on her burger!’ Mo flips me the bird. ‘Anyway, is it though, really?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Science. Is it really cool?’ I ask. ‘Surely it’s the total opposite? Don’t you remember that science teacher we had at school? In her lab coat and glasses?’

  ‘The one we made cry that time?’

  ‘Oh God, don’t remind me. Worst day of my actual life.’ I shudder. ‘Shit, that could be me! I could be the nervous teacher being bullied by over-opinionated schoolgirls with no idea of what they’re on about!’

  ‘Hence why you’d stick to primary. They’re still quite nice at that age. And you love kids, you know you do. You must, to have stayed at the nursery for as long as you have.’

  ‘Hang on, have you been talking with Dad?’ I ask, beginning to wonder if this is in fact a pincer approach. He plants the seed, Mo propagates.

  ‘No. I haven’t seen him for ages. Why do you ask? Ahhh… your dad. Hey, we should invite him round.’

  I narrow my eyes, not entirely convinced. ‘We probably should. And, no reason,’ I say, still suspicious. I lick juice from the side of my hand before it drips low enough to reach my work uniform. ‘Last time I went round, he mentioned something about teaching. It was months ago, around my birthday, in fact. I was bemoaning my lack of future compared with where Mum was at a similar point in her life. According to Dad, she always wanted to teach.’

  ‘No way! Did she? Well, then! Even more reason to! Oh my God, this is serendipity in the making.’

  ‘I’m not here to live her life for her, Mo.’

  ‘I know, but how amazing would it be to achieve something like this, in her memory?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not sure. I don’t think I could do it, you know, and besides…’ I trail off, well aware that if I now tell her I’m staying put, she’s going to start the inquisition. ‘I feel I need to stick around for a while, at work.’

  ‘Whatever for?’

  If I tell her, she’s going to get all protective of me. Try to talk me out of it so I don’t relive my own grief. If I don’t tell her, she’s going to keep on at me… and on. Mo with a bone is not fun Mo. But she’s also impossible to lie to. ‘Okay, so look, here’s the thing. One of the dads from work—’

  ‘OH MY GOD YOU’RE HAVING AN AFFAIR!’

  ‘What? No! Sssshhhh!’ I look around at the wide eyes now staring in our direction. If I were them, I’d totally be listening in to the rest of the conversation, so I try shaking my head, mouthing I’m not, to clear the matter up. Not, I suspect, that it does. Because who would openly admit that to a restaurant of total strangers? I cross my heart for extra reassurance, then turn back to glare at Mo. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, hear me out,’ I hiss.

  ‘Okay.’ She shoves a chip in her mouth, eyes wide, expectant. Ketchup skims her top lip.

  ‘Sauce.’ I point and she licks it clean with a wink. ‘So, one of the dads from work is having a bad time.’

  ‘Your problem, how?’

  ‘Stop it. Just listen. He lost his wife, a few months ago, and he’s trying to get back to work. They had a son just before she died. He was like days old, or something.’ Mo cocks her head in sympathy, so I hurry the last bit up while she’s on his side. ‘I am helping him because I understand. And that’s why I can’t leave.’ The End. Move on.

  ‘Rachel.’

  Shit. She hasn’t taken the hint. ‘Okay, yet. I can’t leave, yet.’

  ‘This is a bad idea.’

  ‘No, it’s not. It’s a good thing. I’m doing a good thing. Something I know Mum would be proud of.’

  ‘That’s a spectacularly manipulative thing to say in order to try to get me off your back, but I’m afraid I’ve known you too long. It’s lovely that you want to help, I think you’re amazing, but this has hashtag trigger warning all over it,’ says Mo, pushing the last of her food to one side so she can reach for my hand.

  ‘How?’

  ‘Ooh, let me count the ways!’

  ‘Knock it off, Shakespeare.’ I pull my hand back.

  ‘Rach, look. You may be a good person to empathise with him, but that doesn’t mean you are the right person to take on his grief.’

  ‘I’m not taking it on!’ I complain. ‘I just think that he doesn’t have many people in his life who are supporting him. And based on the last few conversations we’ve had, he really could do with someone who gets it.’

  ‘What conversations?’ Mo wipes her mouth and hands with a serviette, dropping it onto her now empty plate.

  ‘At work, when he’s arrived to pick his son up, or drop him off. He’s been distressed, a couple of times, in fact. We’ve talked.’ Mo raises her eyebrows. ‘Like I would with all my parents, Mo. You’re looking after their most precious thing. You don’t just bond with the kids, you know, you have a relationship with the parents too. So we talk. And he’s asked questions. I thought it would help that he knew I understood. I told him how losing Mum felt for me.’ Mo sits back in her chair, straw placed in the corner of her mouth. ‘I don’t know what I want to do with my life, Mo. God, I wish I could be more like you with career and future planning, I do. But I’m not. Never have been. I don’t want to stay at the nursery forever, that much I do know, but while I have no burning desire to follow a specific career path, and this dad needs a bit of extra support, what harm can it do?’

  ‘But teaching, Rach. You could be totally brilliant at that. I’m telling you now, you’d be that one teacher we all remember. The one that stays with us our whole lives, like Mr Schaller for me, I just know it. You’d be amazing.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’

  ‘I do.’

  I smile at my best mate; her belief in me has always been total and complete. When I thought I was going to fail my GCSEs, she told me she knew I could do it and helped me revise. I passed. When I thought I’d fail my driving test, because I was too nervous behind the wheel, she gave me all these tips on how to calm down, how to be positive, how to focus on the road ahead… quite literally. And I passed. And now, here, with this. She believes in me in a way I’m not sure I ever could and I don’t think I’d have survived without her. In the words of Bette Midler, she’s quite literally the wind beneath my [bingo] wings.

  But this time? I just don’t know.

  Fifteen

  Rachel

  I gaze at reflections of blue skies and fluffy clouds caught in the Sky Mirror outside the Nottingham Playhouse. The vacant look I suspect I possess is partly because it’s nice to feel the gentle heat from the sun, the kind of spring sunshine that feels much warmer than it really is because you’ve not had enough to get complacent, but partly… if not probably… because I’m on my third coffee of the morning. If I wasn’t gazing vacantly, I’d be bending the unfortunate ear of the stranger at the table beside me. I don’t mean his ear is unfortunate – they’re quite nice ears, as far as ears go – I just mean unfortunate because I’d be rambl
ing on about everything and nothing. He has a laptop and is typing furiously, I don’t think banal chat is on his to do list. And I’m almost certain he doesn’t care about my future career, if there is one, whatever it may be.

  Oh, to teach or not to teach. That is the— ‘Ed?’

  Ed stops abruptly by my table. ‘Rachel!’

  ‘Hi!’

  The look on his face suggests I should have let him walk on, unnoticed. That I should have kept on staring vacantly at the Sky Mirror, rather than gazing around in the hope of catching somebody’s eye.

  ‘Um, isn’t this weather beautiful?’ I smile, wishing my heart wasn’t racing from all that caffeine.

  ‘It’s lovely.’ He looks around, probably in search of an escape route.

  ‘If you leg it across Wellington Circus, we can pretend this never happened.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Sorry. Nothing. You looked like… never mind. I’ve had two cups of coffee too many and that tends to bring me out either in hives, or drivel.’ I look down at my chest. ‘Today it seems it’s both!’

  He nods as if he understands, though I think that’s unlikely.

  ‘I’m avoiding my flatmate so can’t go home yet,’ I say, tapping my watch. ‘But it’s Saturday so no work, that’s always a bonus. Just thought I’d sit and watch the world go by.’ He stares, wide-eyed. My confidence seeps. ‘And look, here it is, going by.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Well, anyway. Ignore me. Sorry, you’ve probably got somewhere to be. Don’t mind me.’ I pick up the menu, glancing down it for inspiration. ‘I might have another coffee… or a fruit juice. More coffee could be a bad idea and I can’t stomach peppermint tea, can you?’

  ‘Not really.’