by E. S. Carter
She sees I have more that I need to say but I’m unable, and in typical Liv style, she lets me off the hook graciously.
“I’ll see you on Monday. We’ll bring breakfast with us.”
She motions for me to take hold of the door as she bends to retrieve her bag, then with one last smile, she turns and leaves. I watch her walk away until she disappears around the corner and out of sight, and with one last deep breath, I step into the darkened hallway of the club, ensuring the door shut behind me, and lock out the late morning sun.
My eyes adjust slowly to the dim lighting. The staff corridors are empty at this time of day with most who work here not arriving until late afternoon. It’s typical of Nate, the workaholic, to be here so early. He still hasn’t eased back on his workload despite his success.
I find him in his office. His head bowed over a pile of invoices and paperwork. He’s so absorbed in his task that I get to watch him for almost a full minute before he realises he’s not alone and lifts his eyes to mine.
Just as with Liv, a look of surprise passes over his face before he swiftly covers it with a welcoming smile.
“Good to see you, bro” is his opening line as he drops his pen, dismissing the work he was immersed in moments ago, and stands. He rounds his desk and encases me in his arms before I have time to form a response.
We’ve always been a close family, but I wouldn’t say we’re the touchy-feely kind. I mean, I’m one of five brothers, the most we share in the form of touch is usually a back pat or a shoulder squeeze, but what Nate is doing to me now is a full on, breath stealing, hug. I sink into it. My legs all but give out, my arms wrap around his broad back, and my hands grip tightly to the cotton of his shirt. Unlike the awkward embrace I shared with Liv a few moments ago, I accept Nate’s. No, that’s wrong, I don’t accept it, I need it. I melt into it. My bones are no longer brittle and about to snap, and my skin no longer too tight for my frame. In his arms, I finally let go of it all. The first sob to pass my lips is muffled and weak, and the following cries quickly gain momentum. I weep in my eldest brother’s arms until we both collapse and slide down onto the floor of his office. He never once lets me go. His embrace never falters; his hold on me never once weakens. He holds me until the final tear falls and the last harsh breath cracks my chest, and then we sit in silence. The only noise the strong, healthy beat of his heart against my ear.
Tiredness washes over me. Releasing everything I locked inside and allowed to fester was draining, but more than that, allowing someone else to see it happen and to comfort me through it, gave me the freedom to feel weary in a way I hadn’t let myself feel since the day I lost her.
“I,” I begin through a dry mouth, my tongue sticking to my lips, forcing me to swallow a couple of times and start again. “We need a new beginning, Nate. I’m dying here, and I’m hurting my kids. I want to go somewhere that holds fewer memories because right now, remembering hurts too much.”
“I can make that happen, where do you want to go?” he asks without pause, and I’m thankful that he didn’t ask me any more than that. He didn’t demand to know why I don’t want to go back to work. He didn’t ask me questions about leaving our home we bought together. He just offered his help freely without judgement or condition.
I lean back and break our embrace, using the cuff of my jersey to wipe at my sore and puffy eyes before reaffixing my glasses.
“Can we take your villa in Ibiza for a few months? Maybe a little longer?”
“You can stay there indefinitely if that’s what you need. When do you want to leave?”
“I didn’t plan on this being so easy,” I admit with a sigh. “I thought you’d be like everyone else and try to talk me out of it.”
He observes me quietly for a moment, and I have to avert my eyes from his gaze because I feel too raw and exposed, my pain a tangible thing between us. Nate and I were never close as kids, and it was only in adulthood that I finally got to know my oldest sibling. I’ve always been proud of him and his achievements but also, like most younger children, I wanted his acceptance. Allowing him to see me weak and broken is the most emotionally honest thing I’ve done in a long time.
“What happened was wrong, Josh,” he begins as he gets to his feet. “Losing Laura like that, going through everything you did and having to care for Ivy and Arthur when all you wanted to do was give up,” he shakes his head lightly as he rounds his desk. “Damn, you’re just about the strongest person I know and if you ask me for anything,” he looks directly into my face to add weight to his words. “I will move heaven and hell to give it to you. You got that?”
I can’t hold his gaze. He’s so fucking wrong about me.
“Don’t put me on a pedestal, Nate. I’ve been a shit father, an even worse son, and being a brother to any of you hasn’t even crossed my mind once. So don’t say stuff to make me feel better. I don’t need admiration. I don’t deserve it. I just need a place to stay.”
My words lack any power, despite me directing them to hurt. It’s my go to defence. If I’m hurting, everyone else can hurt too, even if they’re only trying to help me.
What a pathetic piece of shit I really am.
“Since when have you known me to blow smoke up anyone’s arse, Josh? You don’t get to tell me how I feel,” he states calmly, but the anger in his voice is barely restrained. “What you’ve been forced to endure, the loss you’ve had to come to terms with. Fuck, bro. The fact you’re still standing is enough to prove how strong you are, but wanting to build a better life for you and the kids,” his eyes warm, all anger leeching from his face before he continues. “That makes you a giant in my eyes, and I don’t give a fuck if you feel like a maggot, you can’t see what I do, and to me, you’re a king.”
I slump into the chair on the opposite side of his desk and hold my head in my hands.
“Next week” I confirm after a moment’s silence. “I want to leave next week. As soon as Iz goes to Wales to work on Jake’s new film, I want to pack up and leave.” I lift my head to look directly at him, needing him to promise me something. “Don’t tell Iz, okay? He won’t go if he thinks I’m doing this for the wrong reasons and he needs to return to his life.” I turn my head to look at the photographs framed on Nate’s office wall. My eyes land on one of our entire family. Laura is tucked against my side as we all smile for the camera at Jake and Emma’s wedding. That day feels like a lifetime ago and not a few years.
“I’m grateful for everything he’s done,” I admit quietly, shame evident in my voice at not being able to be grateful enough. “But with him as a crutch, I’ll never learn to live without her. He enables me to coast, and I need to stop letting life aimlessly direct me. I need to find my own direction once more.”
“I agree,” Nate replies quickly. “I won’t say a word to Iz if you promise to tell him yourself before you leave.”
“I will,” I swear. “As soon as he’s on his way to Cardiff, I’ll tell him.”
“Then let me take care of everything. I’ll get the villa set up for your arrival, book your flights and sort out all the details, but one thing I won’t do for you-” he pauses for effect and I know he’s going to try and lighten the mood. “-is tell Mum. That’s all on you.”
I can’t help but groan at the thought of telling my mother we are leaving the country at short notice, and Nate chuckles at the pained sound escaping my mouth.
“Gee, thanks, big brother,” I complain while removing my glasses to rub my free hand down my face. “Take care of the easy stuff why don’t you.”
We both share a smile. The first one between us for almost a year and the first one since she left that doesn’t hurt.
My eyes return to the picture on the wall and I allow myself a split second to remember.
Laura Smiles.
It took eight hours to get from door-to-door, but we’re finally here.
Wrangling two young children, a buggy, and luggage, on even a short plane journey on your own, is a feat worthy of
a medal.
Two airports, customs, a shuttle bus ride, and then a taxi, made for eight of the longest hours of my life.
But we’re here.
Ivy is over-excited and about to make herself sick, while Arthur is out cold, and I know I have zero chance of getting him to sleep tonight.
But we’re here.
Palma airport is ridiculously big for such a small island, and it’s a maze of departure and arrivals halls, travellators and people. So many fucking people.
One thing nobody warns you about when someone you love dies is that you see them everywhere; even when you aren’t looking for them or even thinking about them.
You can be mindlessly carrying on with your day, putting one foot in front of the other, taking one breath at a time, and you’ll spot someone in a crowd, and everything will freeze.
Time, your breath, your heart. It all just stops dead.
Then it crashes back into your chest at a million miles an hour when they turn their head or smile at the person next to them, and their eyes will be the wrong colour or their smile too thin. Or they will look nothing like the person you wished it was, and it’s just your mind playing tricks on you.
Especially in crowds.
Gather together a large group of people, and your mind goes haywire. Your long hidden dreams surface in painfully realistic apparitions of the one you loved and lost.
I saw Laura bending to pick up the fallen teddy of a child in a buggy. I saw her dragging a bright red suitcase, while her gaze scanned the tour reps that gathered in the arrivals hall. I saw the moment she found the man who had been waiting for her. I saw her discard her luggage to fling her arms around his tanned neck. I saw her pull back to stare into his eyes before placing a long kiss on his lips. I saw him pick her up and haul her body against his.
I saw all this without taking a breath.
When she turned to grab the handle of her suitcase, he brushed away her arm and grabbed her luggage for her. I watched in silent pain as she pushed the long strands of her white-blonde hair behind her ear, and the bottom dropped out of my world.
It wasn’t her.
Her nose was the wrong shape, and her lips were too red. Her brows were too dark and her cheeks too round. And even if she had been the spitting image of Laura, identical in every way, my soul knew it wasn’t her because of the look on her face, the one she gave freely to the man at her side, that is the look that Laura only ever gave to me.
Laura Smiles.
By the time we get to Nate’s villa, it’s not just the kids who are weary and emotionally ravaged, I am too. I want nothing more than to close every blind, turn off every light and curl up in darkness. But that’s impossible when you have two little beings that need you and rely on you, one of which is currently bouncing and twirling like a spinning top asking on repeat, “Can we put on our bathers? Can we go in the pool now? Can I take off my clothes? Can you find my mermaid swimsuit?”
“Ivy,” I chastise a little too sternly, and I watch as she stops mid spin and tumbles onto her bottom. “I need you to take a time out, and relax or you’re going to make yourself ill.”
“But, I…”
“No buts. Take Dolly and your backpack to your new room and chill out for a little while. Arthur is sleeping, and once he wakes up we’ll have some lunch, and then if you’re good, we’ll think about going in the pool.”
“But, I…”
“Ivy,” I bark out, causing her bottom lip to tremble. “Daddy has said it’s time for everyone to calm down. We’ve had a long trip, and the pool will still be there in an hour.”
“Okay,” she whispers on a shaky exhale, before grabbing her doll and small bag off the floor by the door where she dumped them in her excitement. She walks on reluctant feet down the hall to the room that Liv and Nate have set up just for her.
I survey the space around me. The villa is classically furnished with luxury fittings, most of which are white or cream – that’s going to be fun with two kids - and my eyes lock on the plush, corner sofa that all but begs me to lie on it. With a quick glance at Arthur asleep in his buggy, I all but collapse onto the comfy, plump cushions, roll onto my back and close my eyes on a deep sigh.
Buzz. BUZZ.
I open a single eyelid and stare at the ceiling, my brain trying to catch up with the sound that I’m sure I just heard.
Buzz. Buzz. BUZZ.
Okay, that’s most definitely coming from somewhere in this house.
Buzz. Buzz. Tap, tap, tap. BUZZ.
Arthur stirs and grumbles at the interruption, his arms and legs kicking out in annoyance as the sound drags him unwillingly from his slumber.
On alert, my body shoots up from its prone position, my hands curling as I rush towards the front door with livid steps, determined to stop whoever is inconsiderate enough to wake my sleeping baby and give them a piece of my…
Buzz. Buzz. BUZZZZZZ.
Arthur wails, his lungs opening on a full-blown cry and I swear to God whoever is one the other side of this entryway is going to wish they hadn’t knocked on this fucking door incessantly, over and over and over.
“What the fuck do you think you’re…”
My angry tirade dies off when I open the door only to be confronted by a giant, five-foot tall teddy bear wearing a black bow tie, top hat and a tuxedo.
Arthur’s cries ramp up in the background. He’s likely more upset at waking up in an unfamiliar place with nobody around to calm him, and I have an almost uncontrollable urge to punch this humungous soft toy in its furry, ridiculously happy, face.
“Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to put him on the ground in case he got dirty.” A feminine and unfamiliar voice from behind the huge bear calls out.
“Nate and Liv asked me to drop some things to you, but this big guy took up my entire boot, and I didn’t want to drive with him in the passenger seat, so I have to go back and get the rest of the stuff.”
I’m still stood staring at the bear in irate silence while Arthur continues wailing in the background.
“If you could, ah… take him from me. I can be back in fifteen or twenty minutes with the rest.” She pushes the bear towards me, her tone becoming hesitant at my lack of response.
Arthur waits for her last word before he really starts to give it both barrels and in-between his cries I hear Ivy’s sweet voice coming from the hallway behind me.
“Daddy, Arfurr is crying. Daddy, can you hear him?”
The fact my daughter even has to ask me if I hear her little brother’s distress only serves to ramp up my anger, and, without a word, I take a step back and slam the door on the giant teddy’s face.
“I can hear him, Princess Ivy,” I assure her, as I rush from the door to the living room where Arthur is strapped in his buggy. I manage to tamp down my simmering annoyance at the stranger with the bear, and I unbuckle Arthur quickly while trying to soothe his cries. Isaac would usually be the one to calm him at times like this because every time I’d attempt to pacify him, his wails would only increase. Isaac had the magic touch when it came to Arthur. Who am I kidding? He was more of a father to him than I, so it’s no wonder my little boy sought my brother’s comfort over mine. I understand it, I accept it, but it doesn’t lessen the sting.
As expected, Arthur doesn’t settle in my arms. His angry face scrunches up in a red, snotty ball, his little arms and legs go rigid, and his back arches away from my hold.
“He wants a bottle, Daddy,” Ivy offers helpfully. “And his Tatty.”
I turn to see her rummaging through his baby bag, pulling out a spare bottle of milk and his Tatty dog soother – which is really just a square of fabric with a dog’s head attached. It used to be Ivy’s when she was a baby, but Arthur has become very attached to the worn and rarely washed soft fleece material.
“Here you go, Arfurr,” she says as she walks over to us where we now sit on the sofa with Arthur still wailing against my chest. She hands her little brother his Tatty first, then his milk, and it�
��s like a miracle happens when he places Tatty by his cheek then leans against me to tip up his bottle with both hands.
Silence. Blessed and beautiful silence.
Ivy smiles up at me triumphantly. “Uncle Iz said I have the knack and that you and Mummy are both very proud of me.”
I swallow down the sharp slice of pain at her words and give her a bright smile. “We are, Princess Ivy. So very proud.”
She smiles down at her now content baby brother before her eyes take on a thoughtful sheen and when she looks back at my face and says, “She isn’t coming back, ever. Is she Daddy?”
It’s a fight to remain composed enough to answer.
With my free hand, I reach for her and tug her against my side.
“No, Princess Ivy. Mummy can’t come back to be with us, but she’s here-” I place my fingertips at her heart “-and here.” I lift my hand to run them lightly across her temple.
“We won’t ever forget Mummy, and I don’t think she will ever forget us.” I look down at Arthur who has almost finished his bottle and add, “But we need to help Arthur remember who she is, okay?”
Ivy’s eyes are wide and sad, but she gives me a tremulous smile and answers, “Okay, Daddy. I can help him remember.” Then I watch as a little light bulb goes off in her brain, and her smile returns. “In fact,” she decides, pulling away from my embrace. “I’m going to go and a draw him picture right now.”
“I think that’s a great idea, Princess Ivy,” I say to her disappearing form as she races away from us back to her room.
One last slurp from Arthur sees his bottle empty, and with a now full belly and a milk-drunk smile, he sits up, drops the bottle and Tatty on the sofa to his side, and wriggles off my lap. With one last look over his shoulder at me, at which I nod and encourage him on his way, he crawls off in the direction that his big sister disappeared, with me hot on his heels. We are at her bedroom door a few moments later - Arthur’s crawling skills are pretty impressive and ridiculously fast when he puts his mind to it - when the bloody door buzzer goes off again.
