Karen and Alison were two girls that regularly chatted with Casey online; they had become fans of the book and wanted to help. I spent many an hour messaging with them and we soon became firm friends. They got together a team, Elaine, Kerry-Ann and Ann. My Angels, as I called them, spent all their time ‘pimping’ the book. It totally baffled me, but somehow whatever it was they did, it seemed to be working.
A Virtual Affair became a bestseller, and I think the night we found that out was the night I nearly died of fright. Shit just got real, as Casey was prone to saying.
“Mum, look,” Casey said as she bounded through the front door one morning.
She opened the local newspaper to an article on me. We sat at the kitchen table and read, squealed, winced, threw in a few ‘holy fucks’, and then read it again. I was being branded as a new bestselling local author in Bude. Not that any of it was a lie but I certainly wasn’t as grand as they made me out to be. They had a photograph of me sitting at the garden table and looking wistfully out to sea. The wind had caught my hair and it fanned out behind me. Despite being very critical of myself, even I agreed the photo was a great one. Casey ordered a copy; it could be my profile picture she’d said. I had no idea what she was talking about, of course. Marina, the reporter, had done a wonderful job of detailing the book, keeping my life fairly private and even read and left a glowing review.
As November wore on, so our excitement of the book and its progress became tempered with the impending anniversary of Ben’s death.
“He would have been so proud of you,” Kerry said during one of our weekly conversations.
“I know he would have. I dedicated the book to him, but I just wish he were here with us. I’d give up everything for one more conversation with him, one hold of his hand, and I can’t help that feeling of letting him down returning.”
No matter how hard I tried, anxiety started to build. That feeling of guilt and regret crept over me until it took a hold. When it got to the point that I didn’t want to get out of bed a couple of days before the actual anniversary, I made a call.
“Louise, it’s Jayne. I think I need to talk today.”
I had her number on speed dial and with permission to call should I need to chat. I’d informed the hospital that I had moved, and although I didn’t the need to visit for therapy, it was nice to know someone was on the end of the phone if I needed to talk. That day, I needed her.
We chatted about how I was feeling. She reassured me that it was to be expected and reminded me of some coping techniques. Although not entirely happy, by the end of our call I had accepted that how I felt was normal. Jenn called me an hour or so later. I guessed Louise had informed her I was in need of a chat and she talked me through some relaxation.
It had been quite a few months since my stay at the hospital and I’d forgotten a lot. In fact, my memory of that whole period in time was hazy, so it was nice to have some reminders.
I woke the morning of Ben’s anniversary and lay in bed listening to the rain battering the back of the house. The bedroom door opened and Casey silently walked in. Her eyes were red-rimmed. I lifted the duvet and she climbed in beside me. She snuggled into my side like she had as a child and we lay in silence for a while just remembering.
She had initially wanted to travel back to Kent but, although she hadn’t said so, I imagined she wanted to stay with me. Either for comfort or to ensure I would be okay. I didn’t mind either way; I was happy to have her.
“I’d like to go for a walk,” I said.
We climbed from the bed and dressed in wet weather gear, walking books, jackets with hoods and gloves. It felt invigorating to walk the beach; we had the whole place to ourselves. The rain lashed, it was cold and our cheeks burned, but, God did we feel good when we returned. We’d stood at the bottom of the grassy steps and watched the sea rage against the shore and the rocks. White angry foam roared up the beach bringing with it driftwood and seaweed. It completely mirrored our mood. It was as if Mother Nature was agreeing with me and complaining about the injustice of life.
As I always did, I touched my lips and placed that kiss on Dini’s plaque as we passed. We stripped off our wet clothing and made tea.
“I don’t want sadness today, I want to remember him and laugh. Let me tell you some funny memories.”
We sat for a couple of hours as I recalled memories from their childhood. Casey remembered some, not others. We laughed, we shed some tears and we took calls. Each time the phone rang, Casey asked if it was Michael. And each time I shook my head.
He wouldn’t call to speak to me, I knew that, but I hoped he might at least have rung his daughter. I watched as the day drew to a close and the disappointment showed on her face.
That evening we snuggled on the sofa in front of the fire and raised a glass of wine to Ben. I was glad I wasn’t alone that day. I was also glad when we headed to bed and it was over. I’d dreaded that day for a year.
It was the week before Christmas and still with a heavy heart, Casey and I went in search of a Christmas tree. I’d found the box of decorations stored in the cupboard under the stairs and together we decorated it. It had been something Ben and I had done each year, and although it wasn’t intentional to exclude Casey, I felt a little sad that she hadn’t been involved. I enjoyed our day, we chatted, and we rearranged each other’s baubles and laughed. We wrapped presents and placed them under the tree, and once done, we sat and looked at the little white lights reflecting off the windowpane. Kerry was due to arrive with Benjamin and mum the day before Christmas Eve. I’d managed to purchase a travel cot from the local charity shop and a new mattress from a store in town.
I had a little panic about where everyone was to sleep until Nora brought down an inflatable bed. Casey offered to take the blow up bed and we stored it behind the sofa. Mum would take my room and I offered to share with Kerry in the twin bedroom. I didn’t want mum to be disturbed should Benjamin wake in the night. She didn’t want to disturb Kerry with her many trips to the bathroom either. We’d sort Carla’s sleeping arrangements out when she arrived.
Nora and Jim joined us for Christmas lunch and it was the most raucous, wonderful Christmas I’d had since childhood. We laughed non-stop, opened presents and drank wine. Poor Jim was well out of his comfort zone being surrounded by women, tipsy women at that. That evening, we settled in the living room with full bellies and chatted.
“He didn’t even send me a card,” I heard Casey whisper.
I’d watched her during the day check her phone repeatedly.
“Maybe he left one at Grandma’s,” I offered, knowing full well he hadn’t.
She shrugged her shoulders then raised her glass.
“Let’s kill him off in the next book,” she said with a glint in her eye.
“I don’t know that there will be another book.”
“There has to be, you can’t leave it at one,” Kerry said.
“Well, I did have an idea a couple of days ago.”
“Tell us then,” Mum said.
I sat back on the sofa and looked at them. Then I shook my head, “No.”
I laughed. I had a good plot line, for sure. But how my family would take the romance I wanted to write with the steamy sex scenes I had imagined, I had no idea.
It was early hours of the morning that I woke to gentle sobs. I slid from my bed, cradled Kerry in my arms and rocked her.
“I miss him so much,” she whispered as she drifted back into sleep.
“I know, darling, I know.”
Boxing Day was much the same as the previous. We ate, we took a walk along the beach and we sat in front of the fire revisiting our gifts from the previous day. Carla had brought me an e-reader and loaded it with money, or whatever one did with an e-reader. I could buy books and I took delight in browsing and downloading. Kerry had had some professional photographs done of Benjamin and her. They were framed and as soon as Jim could, he’d hang them on the wall for me. Casey gave me the most precious gift. She�
�d taken a selfie of us at the computer some time ago; she framed it with a cover from the book. She’d duplicated that little orange bestseller badge on the white card surround and added the poem that was featured at the front of the book. It was a poem I’d learnt in the hospital and one I looked back on when I needed to find some strength—an adaptation of The Serenity Prayer.
I whispered the words. It was something Jenn would whisper in relaxation class and in the beginning the words meant nothing to me. As time went on, it became important and I understood.
The following day Kerry and Casey took themselves into town for a couple of hours, I babysat Benjamin while mum took a walk up to see Nora. Being the same age, and from the same area as children, they had a lot in common and I was pleased that they seemed to have become friends already. I sat with Benjamin and showed him a photo album I’d found in one of the storage boxes. Not that Benjamin understood but I showed him pictures of his dad. His little fingers would grab at the page, pulled the clear plastic cover as if he wanted to hold the photographs himself. I vowed that he would, when he was older, own those albums.
When I looked at him and he stared back with the same eyes his father had, I felt closer to Ben. I wasn’t religious, I wasn’t superstitious, but I could have sworn I heard Ben’s voice.
Tears rolled down my face as, and I was sure it was just a figment of my imagination, I heard, “It’s all right, Mum.”
Benjamin reached up, his hand touched my cheek and I smiled at him. He was the spit of his father at that age. The same blond hair, blue eyes, the same nose but with Kerry’s dimple on one cheek. He was going to be a nightmare where the girls were concerned when he grew up. I chuckled at the thought.
New Years eve arrived and with it, Carla. She’d driven from France after visiting her parents and arrived with yet another armful of gifts. Benjamin had been thoroughly spoilt. She brought cheeses, wine, olives, pate and the most delicate and delicious Parisian macaroons. We devoured the lot and as the evening drew in, we headed for the beach. People had gathered, bonfires were lit and parties were underway. We picked a spot outside the gate, laid a blanket on the damp sand and dragged the garden chairs and table to set up camp. We opened champagne and as midnight struck, so the boats moored out to sea sounded their foghorns. Fireworks could be seen from every direction, their brilliant display reflected on the sea. When the displays had calmed down, we lit the Chinese lanterns I’d bought. I whispered words to Ben and then let mine float up.
We were five women that had had a terrible time with loss, divorce and change. It felt cathartic to watch five lanterns float away, as if we were letting go of the past, of our upset and sadness.
We headed inside and while mum, Kerry and Casey went to bed, Carla and I sat while I had a cigarette.
“I have something to tell you,” Carla said. She had poured us another glass of wine.
“Oh, do tell.”
“I’ve met someone, someone I think I can really grow to like.”
“And you kept this a secret?”
“Well, I didn’t think the timing was appropriate.”
“Fuck the timing, tell me,” I said with a laugh.
She told me of Mason, a business man she’d met initially in a coffee house in Bluewater Shopping Centre of all places. He’d backed into her, causing her to spill her coffee. He’d replaced it, they got chatting and eventually ended up going out for dinner. I was a little upset that she hadn’t told me at the beginning but understood her hesitance in sharing good news at a time when it was all about Ben.
We chatted for a while, she showed me a photo she had on her phone and I was pleased for her. It had taken her a long time to get over Charles and I really hoped Mason was someone she could settle with.
Casey and I waved Kerry, Benjamin, mum and Carla off the following day. It had been wonderful to have them stay and we made a plan that Casey and I would visit in a couple of weeks. I looked forward to that and realised I didn’t feel the dread I had in returning to the village.
We sat in the living room to plot out the new book; I was excited to start writing again. Casey opened the laptop.
“Mum, you have an email,” she said.
It had become commonplace to receive messages and emails from readers who had loved my book, and I took the time to reply to every one. I took the laptop from her and without looking, opened the page. My fingers froze over the keyboard and my breath caught in my throat. I heard a strangled sob and it took a moment to realise it was from me.
“Mum?”
“It’s from him,” I whispered.
“From who?”
“Stefan.”
In front of me was an email with one word in the subject line. Casey sat beside me.
“Please read it, Mum, I’m begging you.”
I closed my eyes as my finger hovered over the email, and then clicked. It took an age to load.
To: Jayne
From: Stefan
Date: 28 December 2015
Subject: Please!
I know I’m a little late, and I’m so sorry about that, but I just wanted to let you know I was thinking of you right now. I haven’t stopped thinking of you, in fact. I kept in touch with Carla, she told me about Cornwall and I’m pleased you are there. I loved that cottage, and I know you did too. I don’t know if you’ll read this, I don’t know if you read any of my emails. I’m struggling with what to say except…
I miss you – Jeg elsker dig.
S xx
The words blurred. I pushed the laptop away and Casey caught it before it crashed to the floor. I curled my legs under me on the sofa and wept. My heart hurt so badly.
“Answer him.”
“I can’t.”
“You can. Do not let this opportunity slide past, Mum. Please, what do I have to do here? Beg? I sent him your book; he knows it all. This is him reaching out to you. Please.” Her voice caught in her throat and tears pooled in her eyes.
“What do I say?”
“The first thing that comes in your mind.” She handed me back the laptop.
To: Stefan
From: Jayne
Date: 1 January 2016
Stefan, I am so, so, sorry. The past year has been pure hell and I’ve missed you so much. I’m at the cottage and I’m healing. I think about you a lot and our time here. Sometimes I think I can still smell you in the bed. I hope so, anyway. I have your shirt and I sleep in it each night. It makes me feel closer to you. I still picture us on the beach and have such wonderful memories; it helps me to deal with the pain of what has happened. I miss Ben dreadfully but as each day passes, I don’t hurt so much.
I know I have treated you badly and I can’t say sorry enough for that. But please understand, I had to go through this alone. I really thought what I was doing was for the best, but now? I wish you had been here with me. Can you ever forgive me? I want you in my life; I just hope I’m not too late. If I am, please, just don’t answer, don’t reply. I will understand.
Jeg elsker dig, always.
J xx
I closed the lid and stood. “Darling, I need to be alone right now.”
I grabbed my coat and left the house. I walked down the garden path to the gate at the end, the gate that still needed one hinge fixed, and then down the grassy steps to the beach. I kicked off my shoes and walked barefoot in the cold damp sand to the water’s edge. I breathed in deep. I closed my eyes and let the tears fall one last time. Whatever the outcome of that email, I needed to move on with my life.
I walked, lost in my thoughts and memories. I cried, I chuckled, I let the wind blow my hair until it was wild. My feet were cold but I still walked barefoot, letting the sand slip between my toes. I circled back to the cottage and saw Casey standing in the garden; she waved to me, calling me back.
I breathed in the smell of the salty air and seaweed, and I hoped.
“He replied,” she said as I closed the gate behind me.
I didn’t speak. I wasn’t sure what to say a
s I followed her to the kitchen. The laptop was on the table, open.
To: Jayne
From: Stefan
Date: 1 January 2016
Subject: Jeg elsker dig
I’m on my way.
The End
I want to tell you a little about how this book became.
For those that don’t know me personally, some time ago I had a breakdown, a breakdown that resulted in me spending some time in the ‘nuthouse’. All the scenes where Jayne spends time in the nuthouse are real. They are my experiences. Art therapy was something I never quite got the hang of!
This isn’t the original version of A Virtual Affair that I wrote, that version is too personal. There are, however, many truths and a lot of made up stuff! I’ll leave you to decide what is real and what isn’t. I’m putting something out there that is painful to remember, but it’s something only now I feel brave enough to do.
I started writing a journal as part of my therapy, that journal ended up a story of over one hundred thousand words. I wrote all day, every day when I came home from hospital. I got lost in the words, I forgot my troubles and I fell in love with writing.
So let’s talk about depression—It’s real, friends. It’s a terrible illness that a lot don’t understand. It isn’t a broken leg, you can’t see it. Unless it’s something you have suffered from, you’ll never understand the pain, the frustration, and the hurt to those surrounding someone with depression. I never believed in depression until it hit me like a freight train. I’d suffered for years before I understood what was wrong with me. I urge anyone in the same situation to get help. Speak, initially, to your doctor and be open and honest with your nearest and dearest. Seek counselling and if you're in the UK, fight for it.
A Virtual Affair Page 29
