A Virtual Affair

by Tracie Podger

  As the hours wore on his breathing became worse, until his body tensed as he fought for breath. His eyes flew open, wide with panic. His mouth opened and closed and Mum screamed for the nurse. He shook his head from side to side, and his hand closed so tight around mine I knew it would bruise. His legs kicked against the mattress. He was basically drowning. We’d been warned but when the end came, it was the biggest shock of all. And then he was gone. His eyes still wide, his mouth still open but there was no noise. There was no gasping for air and no tension in his body as it gently relaxed back into the bed.

  Watching my dad die, witnessing the process of death, would live with me forever. As would the smell. There were no words to really describe the smell of death, but it permeated the air, my clothes, and my hair. It was acrid with hints of acetone.

  I held his hand, rested my head on his knuckles and cried harder than I’d ever cried before.

  I guessed there was selfishness among the bereaved. For what seemed an age, mum and I sat either side of the bed, refusing to let him go and absorbed in our own grief without acknowledging each other’s.

  The nurse spoke quietly to my mother. I watched as she looked at me and, through her tears, gently spoke.

  “We need to let him go now,” she whispered.

  People had arrived at the bedroom door. A doctor wanted to pronounce him dead and that angered me. I knew he was dead; I didn’t need that confirmed to us.

  “I have to call the kids,” I told mum. She nodded.

  “Ben, I’m sorry to wake you. Grandad passed away,” I said.

  “Are you there? I’ll come over now.”

  “No, don’t worry right now. If you could sort out Dini for me… Then if you want to visit Nan later, I’m sure she’d love that.”

  “I’ll take him home with me. Do you want me to call Casey?”

  “If you can. I didn’t bring a charger with me, I don’t have much battery.”

  “I’ll grab that for you as well. I’ll ring when I’m on my way in case you need anything.”

  “Thank you. I’ll see you later.”

  I sent a text to Carla and then mum and I sat on the sofa not quite sure what to do.

  Dad was taken away later that day. It was heart breaking to watch. The undertakers exuded respect, were quiet and sombre. But to see him being wheeled to the back of a van and driven away made his death feel much more real. Neighbours came to the house to offer their condolences, some brought food, others made endless cups of tea.

  “Why don’t you lie down, get some rest,” I said. I’d watched mum yawn.

  “I don’t want to close my eyes. I don’t want to see him,” she whispered.

  I understood what she meant. Those last moments with Dad were not the memories either of us wanted as our lasting ones. I stood and walked to the old fashioned oak wood dresser that had stood proudly in every house I’d known my parents to live in. In the cupboard were stacks of photo albums. I grabbed a couple.

  Mum and I sat and looked through them, we even managed a chuckle as we relived the past. It did us both good to remember dad in happier times. It wasn’t long after we flicked through the last album that I noticed mum’s eyelids start to droop. She curled up on the sofa and dozed.

  Ben arrived with a phone charger and a takeaway from a burger chain. I wasn’t hungry but sat at the small kitchen table and ate with him. We spoke in hushed tones so as not to wake mum.

  “What happens next?” Ben asked.

  “Dad made us visit the undertakers ages ago, he planned his own funeral. I guess we have to get that process started. He made a will; a local solicitor has that. I’ll contact them tomorrow.”

  “You need to get the death certificate and contact his bank, pension people and the council. I can do that for you,” he said.

  “Is it so bad that I want a cigarette?” I said.

  “Well, I’d hoped you might want to quit, but perhaps today’s not the day for that.”

  He smiled and squeezed my hand as I made my way through the patio door to the small back garden. It was just a square of grass and a few slabs laid as a patio. Neither mum nor dad was big on gardening. I sat on a plastic white chair that cracked with age and lit my cigarette.

  My phone beeped to let me know I had a text.

  Mum, I’m on a train but I don’t think I can come to nana’s. I’ll go home and wait there. :(

  I replied. That’s okay. You do what you have to. I don’t know when I’ll be home, but I’ll call you later.

  I knew she had texted rather than called for one reason only. Casey found it a struggle to deal with emotion, more so in public. She had a tough exterior and she would need that for the world she wanted to work in, but inside she was as soft as butter. All I hoped was that hardness she had started to develop didn’t, like her father’s, penetrate too far.

  “Aunty Margie is on her way,” mum said. She had startled me when she’d stepped through the patio doors.

  “That’s lovely. I haven’t seen her in years. How is she making the journey?”

  Aunty Margie was my mum’s sister and lived in Scotland. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen her. I know she had visited when my children were small and, of course, mum kept in regular contact.

  “She’s booked a flight and then a taxi from the airport.”

  “I could have picked her up, Nan,” Ben said.

  She patted his arm.

  “You don’t want to be stuck in a car with that dotty old bat for an hour, darling. Thank you though.”

  Aunty Margie had been, and I guessed still was, a live wire. Older than my mum, she’d been a hippy, a rocker, and everything in between. She’d travelled and never married. She lived in one wing of a stately home, as she called it. I suspected it was an old peoples home but judging by the photographs I’d seen, a very plush and exclusive one.

  Carla rang a couple of times. She wanted to visit but I think the amount of visitors had worn mum out.

  Margie arrived and mum sent me home for a rest. I wanted to stay, I could have slept on the couch, but she was insistent. Like dad, she thought of everyone else before herself.

  Kerry dropped Dini back and sat for a cup of tea. She had started to develop a little bump, only noticeable because she was so slim.

  “Have you told work yet?” I said as I placed my hand on her tummy.

  “Yes, I’ll be taking maternity leave, but I’m not sure what I’ll do after the baby comes. Ben doesn’t want me to work but we need the money.”

  Kerry worked at the local beauty parlour. She was a therapist and I’d been on the receiving end of her massages many times.

  “Maybe start up yourself, I’ll babysit,” I said.

  “We’ll see, and you know you can be as involved in the baby as you want,” she said with a smile.

  Some mothers lost their sons when they found a partner—I hadn’t. I’d gained a wonderful daughter-in-law. Despite the fact they weren’t married, there was no doubt in my mind they would be at some point.

  “Has Ben heard from Michael?”

  A flash of anger crossed her face. “Not a word. He’s hurt by that but he won’t admit it.”

  I shook my head. Michael was a prick, the worst kind to think only of one of his children. Ben wasn’t oblivious to it, but he chose to ignore it. It was a testament to the kind of father he was going to be.

  Once Kerry had left, I opened my laptop.

  To: Stefan

  From: Jayne

  Date: 10 August 2014

  Subject: Sad news

  Dad died yesterday. Mum and I were with him right to the end. It was awful, Stefan. I feel totally lost right now. Mum’s sister flew down from Scotland so she’s sent me home for a rest. I’ll go back in the morning. I didn’t want to call you. I’d cry if I heard your voice. Right now, I need some sleep. I’ve been awake for twenty-four hours, I think. Casey is on her way home, so I think I’ll get a nap before she arrives.

  Speak soon, hugs.

 
J xx

  I closed the laptop, not expecting a reply. It was early evening, and what with the time difference, I didn’t expect him to pick up the message until the morning. I could have called. Over the previous week or so, he’d insisted. Whenever I wanted to talk, I could call him, but at that moment I’d cry if I did. I was tired, emotional, drained and hollow. I curled up on the sofa, dragged a throw over me and closed my eyes.

  Dini’s growling woke me. The room was dark and I took a moment to let my eyes adjust. I heard a knock on the front door.

  I peered through the window before I answered and saw Casey standing on the doorstep.

  “Where’s your key?” I asked as I pulled the door open.

  “I left it at Dad’s, I think.”

  She dropped her bag and shrugged off her coat, leaving them on the hallway floor before falling into my arms, sobbing.

  I led her to the kitchen and helped her to a chair. I put the kettle on and made two cups of tea. As I sat next to her, I chuckled.

  “Grandad’s answer to everything—hot sweet tea,” I said as I raised my mug.

  “How’s nana? Or is that such a dumb question?”

  “Aunty Margie is with her at the moment. I imagine she’s tearing her hair out by now. If you’d have called, I could have collected you from the station.”

  “It’s okay, dad drove me.”

  “Your dad?”

  “Erm, yes. He’s staying at Grandma’s. He’s back for a month.”

  “Oh.” I bit my tongue so as not to speak out loud the words I had in my head.

  “He sends his condolences. I met him for dinner earlier, it’s why I’m a little late.”

  I blinked a few times and clenched my teeth together, forcing a smile.

  “I guess he’s not coming home, is he?”

  “No. It’s for the best, Casey.”

  “Couldn’t you have tried?”

  My body tensed in shock at her words. Tried?

  “I tried for years. It wasn’t my decision to leave. It was your father’s.”

  We sat in silence for a little while. I was angry. At her and at whatever Michael had said for her to come to that conclusion. He was no more than five miles away yet he hadn’t bothered to offer his condolences in person. He’d taken her for a meal yet ignored his son. I rubbed my temples, feeling a headache approaching.

  “I think we need to get some sleep. I have a busy day tomorrow,” I said.

  Casey nodded, oblivious to how hurt I had been by her words. Once she had made her way up to bed, I let Dini out in the garden before locking up and heading up myself.

  The next few days flew by in a blur. We met with the undertakers, the bank, sent letters and contacted as many of dad’s old friends as possible. Ben was a godsend; he drove mum around, and he made calls. Casey visited once. She spent her days with Michael at his parents, only returning to sleep. It was on the tip of my tongue to enquire why she even returned home in the evenings, why she didn’t stay overnight.

  Stefan emailed, he texted, and on the night before the funeral, he called. I sat in the garden with a glass of wine and a cigarette to chat with him.

  “Hey, how are you?” he said once I’d answered his call.

  “Coping. Better than I thought, to be honest. There’s so much to do.”

  “How’s your mum?”

  “She has good moments, and then I’ll catch her sitting on dad’s side of the bed in tears. Her sister is here and she’s been wonderful. Not how I remember her at all. She asked mum if she wants to go back with her for a week.”

  “Will she?”

  “I think so. I think it might be good for her to get away for a bit. It’s so claustrophobic at the bungalow. People are being helpful but there’s never a moment of peace. I wanted mum to come here but she won’t.”

  “She needs to stay connected to him, I imagine.”

  “Maybe.” I sighed.

  “I hate that you’re so sad,” he said quietly.

  “I miss him. I want my dad back.” My voice broke on every word.

  “I know, baby. I know.”

  “I’m going to book that cottage in Cornwall for later in the year. I don’t know if mum will come; it might be too painful. But I think it will help me to feel closer to him. I close my eyes and all I see is him lying on that bed moments before he died. I don’t want those thoughts anymore.”

  “I think that’s a great idea. Go back to the place that gave you the best memories.”

  “I need to go, I need to get some sleep. I think tomorrow is going to be the worst day of my life.”

  “I’ll be thinking of you, every moment of the day,” he said.

  We said goodbye and I hung up. As much as I loved to hear his voice, our calls always left me downhearted. More so knowing how awful the following day was going to be. Stefan was always friendly, caring, but there was never a hint that he felt anything more for me. I’d built him up in my mind to be something that he wasn’t. He’d been a crutch without knowing it. He’d got me through tough times without knowing it. I’d relied on him for my happiness, living a fantasy life, and he had no clue.

  The house was a hub of noise and people the following morning. Carla, Casey, Ben and Kerry had decided to use my house to prepare for the funeral. I appreciated them being with me. I didn’t want to wake and have to dress for my father’s funeral on my own. I needed their company.

  “Mum, there’s mail for you,” Casey said. The postman had just deposited the mail.

  She handed me a stack of letters. I flicked through, handing back the ones for Michael; she could give those to him.

  At the bottom of the pile was a small padded envelope. My hands shook as I saw the handwriting and the postmark. I dropped the remaining envelopes on the kitchen table and walked out into the garden. I noticed Carla looking at me as I did.

  I opened the envelope and sobbed as I drew out its contents. I held in my hand a small silver angel. He’d remembered. Stefan had remembered a conversation where I’d asked him to find the artist who made the angels and he’d sent one to me on the one day I needed it.

  There was no note, just the most delicate, intricately carved beautiful angel. I held her in my palm and cried.

  “What’s that?” I heard.

  Carla sat beside me. I opened my palm to show her.

  “It’s beautiful, who sent it?”

  I looked up at her. It was a while before I could speak.

  “The kindest man I know. A man I’m in love with, but he doesn’t know.”

  She stared at me, not understanding. Ben, calling that it was time to go, interrupted us. I stood, Carla stood, and silently we walked back into the house. I left the envelope on the side but placed the angel in my bag. I wanted to take her with me.

  Mum’s house was a hive of activity. Carla’s parents had driven up from their retirement home in France, and Margie was busy making tea and organising people. Mum had wanted for us to make sandwiches, to have the wake at home, but after much persuasion from Margie and me, their local pub had been booked. Dad enjoyed a pint or two in that pub on a regular basis, so it seemed fitting.

  Carla hadn’t said a word on the journey and once at the house, it was too busy. I heard tinkles of laughter from some of my parent’s oldest friends as they reminisced. Despite the pain I felt, it pleased me. I didn’t want the day to be sombre; I wanted a celebration of my dad’s life.

  The mood swiftly changed though when a hearse and a black limousine pulled up outside. The house quietened as people made their way outside. The undertakers took the flowers that had been delivered to lay out in the hearse. Dad hated flowers; he would have winced at the expense that adorned his oak coffin.

  As we drove away from the house, I thought I saw a familiar car pull into the cavalcade that followed.

  The crematorium was packed; some of dad’s old docker colleagues had turned up to see him off. As I scanned the crowd, I saw faces I hadn’t seen since childhood. It was a shame that those guys o
nly got together for a funeral. Ben stood and gave a reading. His words about his life with his grandad brought fresh tears to my eyes. I’d tried so hard not to cry, to keep my sorrow in so I could be strong for my mother and my children. But to hear my son’s voice break and to see tears stream down his cheeks dissolved me.

  All too soon the first cords of my parent’s favourite song echoed around the hall. I heard mum sob as Jim Reeves sang I Won’t Forget You. As we filed past his coffin, I laid the white rose I’d been carrying, kissed my fingertips and passed that kiss onto my dad. I then took my mum’s arm and we made our way outside in the sunshine.

  Through my tears, hidden behind dark glasses, I saw Michael. He stood slightly to one side with the tart on his arm and Casey walked to stand beside her. I turned away and held my crying son. In that moment, I knew I hated him. I was also deeply hurt by what I saw as betrayal from my daughter.

  “He has brought that slut to your dad’s funeral?” I heard.

  “Nan!” Ben said.

  Turning, I saw my mum, eyes wide with anger. I opened my mouth to speak.

  “Oh, darling. I knew things were bad, but I never believed he could stoop so low.”

  “How did you know?” I’d never recalled speaking about her to my parents.

  “Your dad saw them one time. We never mentioned it because you never did, but we knew that you knew.”

  “How long has that been going on?” Ben asked. I felt his body tense as I held him.

  “Years. But today isn’t the day to deal with it,” I said.

  We walked to the waiting cars. As I passed him, he made to speak. I held my head up high and ignored him. My mother however, couldn’t. She stopped and turned to him. I stood by her side.

  “How dare you bring that woman, that slut, to my husband’s funeral, to your wife’s father’s funeral. You are not welcome, Michael. Casey, get in the car and join your family, now!”