He almost laughed at how his mind actually went blank for a second, causing him to come out with some inane question about it not being a bad time. Obviously it wasn’t a good time. The woman had had to answer the door half-naked. He continued to picture her though and couldn’t help the words tom-ay-to and tom-ah-to springing to mind.
He snapped himself out of it, knowing it was exactly these kinds of thoughts that had gotten him into his current predicament.
What a mess, Dan thought to himself. Seeing her like that had left him unable to think straight, let alone remember why he was actually there. And by the time he’d pulled himself together it was too late to offer any explanation at all with regards to his impromptu visit, she was already on the phone to her sister. Why hadn’t he just said what he had to say and then left them both to it, instead of playing the knight in shining armour? If he had, he wouldn’t have heard about Rebecca’s pregnancy. But hear he did and now it felt cruel to tell Annabel their arrangement was off. The mere mention of Rebecca having a baby had struck him, so he could only guess at how Annabel must feel. She might put on a brave face, but whether she admitted it or not, it had to hurt.
‘Anyone I know?’ asked his mum, entering the room.
As she peeked over his shoulder, Dan quickly tucked his phone into his jeans pocket. ‘I shouldn’t think so,’ he said. He pushed anything and everything Annabel related to the back of his mind, it was something he’d have to deal with later.
He picked up the wooden spoon again and got back to his stirring. ‘I hope you’re hungry. This soup is to die for.’ Dan cringed. There were so many innocuous statements that, under normal circumstances, would go unnoticed. Now, however, they seemed to take on a whole new dimension. He turned to his mother. ‘Sorry. That came out wrong.’
Unusually quiet, she dismissed his comment with a wave of a hand. ‘This looks nice,’ she said, taking a seat.
He followed her gaze to the neatly laid table. His mum had always thought it important they eat together at least once a day. She viewed it as their time to catch up. Dan had to admit he hadn’t always agreed and sometimes he had managed to get out of it, but not very often. He thought back to his youth, he could still recall his frustration at not being able to come in from school and head straight for his room. Unlike his friends, he wasn’t allowed to shut himself away for hours on end. Instead, he’d have to sit and watch his mum prepare dinner, answering question after question about how his day had been, what he and his friends had been up to during break and did they have any plans for the weekend. Even after they’d eaten he still couldn’t escape. Under his mother’s watchful eye, he’d have to sit there doing his homework while she washed up and cleared everything away.
Now though, he understood why. The prospect of losing his mum had forced him to look at their relationship through fresh eyes. He’d come to realise their tea time routine, along with the incessant questions, had been her way of ascertaining what was going on in his head, rather than in his general day to day life. She’d simply been making sure she didn’t lose him to all the badness out there in the world – crime, drugs, peer pressure, all the things that can drive a wedge between parent and child if left unnoticed. This was her way of keeping him on the straight and narrow. What he’d give to go back to those days.
‘So what’s on your agenda for this week?’ asked his mum, interrupting his thoughts. ‘Anything exciting?’
Dan smiled; he thought to himself that some things never changed. Not only did his mother still employ the same tactics, she was as protective of him now as she’d ever been. He just wished he had more time left with her to appreciate it.
‘No plans to speak of,’ he replied. He carried the pan of soup over to the table and began filling their bowls. ‘What about you?’
His mum picked up her spoon. ‘I’ll be checking out the local hospice, but other than that nothing special.’
Dan stopped what he was doing. He knew that she hadn’t intended to sound so blasé, but he still felt like he’d been slapped in the face. Hospices were where people went to die. They weren’t something you casually dropped into a conversation.
‘Don’t look at me like that, Sweetie. We both know it’s coming and, as hard as it is to accept, we have to be organised and ready. These things have to be done.’ She paused as if thinking about the place in more detail. ‘I’m most looking forward to seeing the gardens. Apparently they’re gorgeous and, no matter the season, there’s always something in bloom. I imagine it’ll be quite comforting to be surrounded by beauty at the end.’
‘But I …’
‘What? Expected me to spend my last days here? I don’t think so, Dan. That would be too much for the both of us.’ She began to eat. ‘And just because I had to bathe you and get you dressed once of a day, that doesn’t mean I want you returning the favour. Surely you can see that?’
Dan didn’t know what to say. On the rare occasion he had allowed himself to think about his mother’s final days, she was right, he had automatically assumed they’d be spent here, with him, in their home. He’d assumed he’d be the one nursing her to the very end and not because of any sense of duty, but because he wanted to do it.
‘After I’m gone,’ his mum carried on. ‘I need you to remember all the fun we’ve had over the years. Not when you had to carry me down the stairs to the sofa, or worse to the toilet. I couldn’t bear it.’
No matter the explanation, Dan still felt hurt. ‘So you’d rather be surrounded by strangers?’
She gave him one of her stern don’t even go there looks and Dan realised there was no point arguing. The matter was in no way up for discussion. He shook his head and sighed. He might not like her decision, he might even want to return the favour as she put it, but he had to respect her wishes even if she couldn’t respect his. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘We’ll do things your way.’
‘Thank you,’ his mum replied. ‘Now can we please talk about something positive? Tell me, how are things with Maeve?’
Dan fixed a smile on his face; he didn’t feel like talking about anything. ‘Fine,’ he simply said. ‘She’s a lovely girl.’
‘So things are progressing well then, are they?’
He shifted in his seat. Having stood her up last night, this was the one subject he especially didn’t want to get into. ‘As well as can be expected.’
While avoiding his mum’s gaze, he picked up his spoon and dipped it in his bowl. He was beginning to wish that he’d made himself a salad instead. Unable to admit how he really felt about Maeve, he’d never been any good at lying to his mother and with every nervous tick and twitch on show, at least with a salad he could have stuffed his cutlery full of lettuce leaves to hide behind. As it was, he had nothing.
‘I told you you’d like her, didn’t I?’ she said.
Dan suddenly got up from the table. ‘Water?’ he asked. His mum failed to answer, but he decided to get her a drink anyway and, after grabbing a couple of glasses from the cupboard, he headed for the sink.
‘And last night’s date?’ she carried on. ‘How did that go?’
Dan’s hand faltered on the tap. She couldn’t possibly know he’d stood Maeve up.
‘Why do you ask?’ he replied. He tried to sound equally as casual, but felt his body tense up as he waited for her answer.
‘No reason.’
Relieved to hear this, Dan felt himself relax.
‘It’s just that Missy called this morning.’
Shit! thought Dan. Of course she did.
His mother always did have her ways and means of finding out what he’d been up to, sometimes before he’d even done it. However, rather than confront him on any of his wrong doings, she much preferred giving him the opportunity to own up first.
While standing there, he felt like a naughty schoolboy as opposed to the grown man he was meant to be, although he supposed on this occasion he only had himself to blame. Too busy playing the hero on Annabel’s behalf, he should have realised his mum�
��s friend would have been straight on the phone.
‘She wondered if everything is alright,’ she continued. ‘I mean according to her, poor Maeve waited and waited for you to get there, but you didn’t actually turn up.’
Dan could feel her eyes boring into him as she held out for some sort of explanation. And just like when he was a kid, he knew his deceit would be written all over his face, one of the reasons he never could get away with anything. He returned to the table and frantically tried to come up with a suitable excuse. Maybe he could say his car had broken down or that he’d ran out of petrol. Or that he’d bumped into an old friend en route and gotten waylaid catching up.
‘So,’ his mum continued. ‘If you didn’t spend the evening with Maeve, the only question is who did you spend it with?’
Dan let out a long, hard sigh. The time had come to tell the truth.
‘Annabel,’ he said. ‘Her name’s Annabel.’
20
‘Higher! Higher!’
Annabel laughed. She couldn’t deny the little one’s bidding. Feeling such joy, she’d have stood there all day just to sense that smile and hear that giggle.
‘Mummy, I’m flying. I’m flying.’
Push after push, Annabel could almost feel the tummy tickles as the swing to-ed and fro-ed, carrying her charge backwards and forwards – a sensation she remembered from her own childhood. As she felt the sun on her skin and the love in her heart, Annabel couldn’t have been happier. She wanted the day to last forever and ever.
‘Daddy! Daddy! Your turn! Your turn!’
With one last push, Annabel stepped back. More than content to share the excitement, she thought it only fair Daddy have his go too. Smiling, she turned; ready to give her husband a hug and a kiss before he took her place in front of the swing. Suddenly confused, she stared at the man before her.
‘Dan,’ she said. ‘What are you doing here? Where’s Tom?’
‘Tom!’ she called out. Annabel scanned her surroundings and looked for his face amongst the other dads. Starting to panic, she couldn’t see him.
‘Tom’s gone,’ said Dan.
He stepped forward, his arms out ready to reassure her, but Annabel recoiled. ‘No,’ she said. Her eyes still searching, he had to be here somewhere. ‘He can’t have gone.’ Her heart began to race. He wouldn’t leave her, not again.
She frantically tried to locate him, her voice got louder and louder. ‘Tom! Tom!’ Desperate tears welled in her eyes. ‘Why isn’t he answering?’ she asked. ‘Why isn’t he here?’
She felt Dan’s hand on her arm.
‘Annabel,’ he said. ‘It’s time to let go.’
Annabel bolted upright. Gasping for air, the darkness confused her and, in that moment, she couldn’t work out where she was. Her heart raced, so fast that she could feel the blood pumping through her veins, every beat pounding in her ears. Tears streamed down her face, the fear of not being able to find Tom still with her.
She tried to control her breathing, forcing herself back to the here and now. ‘It’s not real,’ she said. ‘It’s not real.’
Annabel managed to compose herself and switched on the bedside lamp, its brightness blinded her for a second. She reached for Tom’s photo off the bedside cabinet and immediately hugged it close to her chest. Finally, her heart rate began to settle.
Feeling calmer, Annabel checked the clock. It was 4.30 a.m., she knew she should go back to sleep, but after throwing the covers off of herself, she felt too shaken to even try. She didn’t want to risk falling back into the same dream. Except it wasn’t a dream anymore, it was a nightmare.
After swinging her feet off the bed, Annabel wondered what it all meant. ‘What’s happening to me, Tom?’ she asked. Waiting for an answer, she hoped against all hope that this time he would appear to answer her questions. She needed him to tell her everything was going to be fine. In the continuing silence, however, her anticipation turned to disappointment. As usual, she was going to have to figure things out for herself.
Annabel grabbed her dressing gown and headed for the bathroom. She turned on the cold tap and began slushing her face with the running water. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, she looked tired, something she supposed understandable at this time of the morning. While examining her features though, she knew it was more than that. It was as if she was losing her grip on the life she’d built for herself. Everything about her seemed to be changing and now she might not even have her dream for comfort. A dream that felt so real, it was the one tangible link she still had to her husband and it scared her to think that that could be gone too.
She made her way downstairs to the kitchen. After coming to the conclusion that a cup of tea might help, she clicked the kettle on, the sound of the water boiling cutting through the early morning stillness. She wondered how many others out there couldn’t, or didn’t want to sleep either, and stared out of the window, looking for signs of life. Out in the darkness, it didn’t surprise her to find there weren’t any. Everyone else was far too sensible.
Maybe that’s the problem? thought Annabel. Perhaps in her heart of hearts she was sick of being sensible too. Ever since Tom’s death, she’d kept both herself and her memories wrapped up in an invisible wadding of cotton wool. Over time, she acknowledged, a part of her was bound to want to break free. She sighed. If she gave in, where would that leave the part of her that didn’t? Annabel felt a sudden urge to get out into the fresh air, and racing upstairs to get changed, she hastily swapped her night clothes for a pair of jeans and a sweater. She raced back down again, and grabbed her keys, phone, and a jacket, before heading outside. She took a deep breath and, after feeling the cool morning air fill her lungs, she set off down the street.
Without a clue as to where she was going, Annabel just walked and walked. After a while, she started to hear refuse collectors in the distance, the stopping and starting of the rubbish truck as it made its way along its route; a sign that soon everyone would be up and about ready to get on with their day. Annabel thought how nice it would be to simply click her fingers and bring everything to a halt, to freeze frame the moment; such thoughts suddenly reminded her of the run up to Tom’s funeral when she really had wanted the world to just stop.
All those people milling around, she recalled, business as usual, when her life had come crashing down. They had to sense that the world had shifted, to realise something was wrong. They had to see it written all over her gaunt, expressionless face, and in the sadness of her eyes. Yet in reality no one seemed to notice anything, or care for that matter; a fact made more than clear when Rebecca dragged her out to buy a funeral outfit.
She remembered the numbness she felt, forced to go through the motions of checking dress sizes. They were both on automatic pilot, but rather than see their pain, the shop assistants merely followed them around as if they were a couple of would-be thieves. Of course, red-eyed and distracted, in Annabel’s desperation to just pick something, anything, the two of them could easily have been mistaken for a couple of drug addicts looking to turn a quick buck for their next fix. However, as far as Annabel was concerned, that wasn’t the point. The shop assistants didn’t care beyond what they saw. No one did.
A dog barking somewhere interrupted her thoughts. She hadn’t noticed the daylight creeping up on her, or realised how far she’d walked. ‘Maybe you’re listening to me after all,’ she said to her deceased husband. She took in the familiar church spire, it felt nice to think he might have been guiding her.
While crossing the cark park, Annabel considered the number of times she’d hurried down this footpath. Today though, she felt in no rush. As she begun to leave the land of the living behind, she took the time to listen to the birds and their dawn chorus, to smell the scent of the wild flowers, and admire the hedges. Beginning to see the place in a new light, she soaked up the tranquillity, forced to give the caretakers their due. In her view, to bring such nature to what she’d always considered a very unnatural environment m
ust’ve taken some doing. As Annabel looked around, she spotted a rabbit as it hopped behind a headstone. She could sense the serenity of her surroundings and yes, while it was still a cemetery, for the first time ever she grasped an element of real beauty.
While sauntering along, she noticed a glint in the grass just ahead and, leaning down for a closer look, picked up a shiny new penny. Annabel looked at it for a second, turning it over in her fingers before putting it in her jacket pocket. Despite not being superstitious, she smiled. It was about time she had her share of good fortune. Even if finding a penny didn’t really bring much in the way of luck, she couldn’t help but think she needed all the assistance she could get.
Finally, after approaching Tom’s grave, Annabel sat down, cross legged in the dewy grass. As she tried to put her thoughts into some sort of order, she pulled out her mobile and dialled a number. She listened to the ring tone, waiting for the answerphone message to kick in.
‘Hi, this is Tom,’ said her husband. ‘You’ve probably guessed I can’t pick up the phone right now, so leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Oh, and if this is you, Annabel, I love you, Sweetheart.’
She realised that people thought her mad for keeping his phone going all this time, but she was as scared of forgetting Tom’s voice as she was his face. His voicemail recording made her feel like she had a direct line straight to him and on those times when her memories seemed to be fading, it offered proof that their life together really did exist. Sometimes she even left him a message, but that was her little secret. If anyone knew that, then they’d definitely see her as balmy.
Annabel clicked the phone off and tucked it away in her jacket. ‘Even though I wish to God you were still here, Tom,’ she said, while looking around. ‘I suppose having a dead husband does have its advantages. I mean, how many other wives get to bend their other half’s ear at this time of a morning.’
She pictured him chuckling at her attempt at humour, cheekily yawning as he nodded his head in agreement. In reality, when it came to one of them keeping the other awake they both knew it was usually the other way round. Tom had been the one to prevent her from sleeping.
The Trouble With Words: a heart-warming romantic comedy Page 17
