Playing My Love

by Angela Peach

  Playing My Love

  Angela Peach

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ALTERNATE ENDINGS

  When I first started writing this novel, I had the ending all planned out. However, as I approached the final few chapters, something happened in my life that changed the way I felt about my original script. I suddenly realised that a happy ending for one person is quite possibly a sad ending for someone else. So I wrote another! Unable to choose which of the two I most wanted to put in, I made the decision to include them both-that way, it’s down to YOU as the reader to choose which ending you prefer! Personally, I blame this indecision on my being a very typical Piscean, but I also think it makes it a little more interesting for you!

  Enjoy!

  Acknowledgements

  Spotting the great teachers in life is hard, but not as hard as hearing what they have to say and learning from it. I want to say a big thank you to everyone who has come into my life, because one way or another you have all made an impact on me and who I am. A few are still in my life. A lot aren’t. But you will always be in my heart, and I want you to know that I remember you with love. Maybe one day we will meet again? I sincerely hope so.

  Chapters

  1 Perfect

  2 Faith

  3 Rescued…Again (Sort Of!)

  4 Voice Of An Angel

  5 Past And Present, Old And New

  6 Free Therapy

  7 Cowboys And Indians

  8 Where The City Meets The Country

  9 Barn-be-que

  10 Lessons In Love

  11 Stupid Questions

  12 One Very Good Reason

  13 And All That Jazz

  14 Sky-sharing

  15 Walking Confused

  16 Darcy

  17 The Ugly Truth

  18 In Recovery

  19 Sam Kind Of Wonderful

  20 Back To Where It All Began

  21 Alternate ending 1

  22 Alternate Ending 2

  23 A Happy Ending

  Playing My Love

  Angela Peach

  Copyright 2013 Angela Peach

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion thereof, in any form whatsoever without permission, except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews.

  Thank you.

  1

  Perfect

  I looked around the cottage disdainfully. It was perfect in every way. The little garden with the shed at the bottom was perfect. The rustic old (and extremely dilapidated) barn filled with hay was also perfect. The spacious lounge with French windows, laminated floor and large open fireplace was simply beautiful. The fully equipped country kitchen and large bedrooms were what I'd always dreamed of, and the bathroom that held the luxurious power shower and deep bath tub looked just heavenly.

  It was all…perfect.

  The perfect place to die.

  Oh, we'd both 'ooh'ed and 'ah'ed when we'd come to view it, but the thought was there for sure. I mean it was always there, lurking at the back of both our minds somewhere.

  Less than a year left to live.

  I brushed it aside with a shudder. Right now I needed to make the place as comfortable as possible. No, not comfortable. That sounded too much like something the doctors at the hospital would say. Homely. Yes, that was better.

  "Honey, where do you want this plant?" Gray asked from the doorway, a tall red plant in his arms.

  "Uh, I'm not sure yet. Maybe just put him by the window."

  "Him?"

  "Yeah. He's Big Red."

  "Hmm. I won't ask what you called the cactus that's shaped like a penis" he smirked as he placed Red in position.

  "He's called Dickie."

  Gray burst out laughing.

  "For real?"

  I nodded, unable to stop myself from smiling.

  "Okay then, Dickie it is!" He came over to me and pulled me into a hug. "God, this place is perfect."

  Perfect? PERFECT? No, goddammit, it is NOT perfect!

  "Mm."

  "Fancy a cuppa?"

  I widened my smile, feeling like I must surely be bordering on looking crazy.

  "Sure! I'd love one!"

  "Great! I'll go and put the kettle on, and you sit down and put your feet up."

  As he left the room, I obediently sat on the sofa and stared out of the window at the

  (perfect)

  view. I could understand why he was trying to put a brave face on things. Actually, that was a big fat lie. I couldn't understand anything about what was happening to him, and I especially couldn't understand how he could still be so upbeat and chipper. But I guess I understood his reasons for not letting it get to him. It was just that, for me, I was only playing the dutiful supportive wife. On the outside I was as normal as ever. I laughed at his jokes, I enthused over our meals, I showed interest in conversations and days out together.

  But. On the inside I was calmly separating myself from him. Trying to remove him from my heart had proved too hard and I just couldn't do it. I figured out that I had to stop connecting with him on an emotional level in order to stop the pain destroying me when he…died. I forced myself to acknowledge that he was going to die.

  (It's funny. If someone had told me now that I'd find so much happiness and laughter and, yes even fun, with the very perfect Miss Darcy Hennessey, I would have probably slapped them into next week. But that was just how Darcy was. She had this charming, attractive energy that was almost addictive to me. She wasn't just the rainbow on a rainy day, she was the sunshine that made the rainbow! She had this comfortable way about her that made me smile before I even realised I wasn't frowning anymore.)

  But I'm getting way ahead of myself here. I still had a couple more weeks of misery before I would stumble across her.

  "Here's your tea babe."

  "Thanks Doc…shit, sorry" I cursed my slip up. Since we'd got the news, (the 'C' news that is. I hadn't got round to being able to say the word out loud yet) I'd found it too hard to call him by his nickname of ten years. And as neither of us liked his first name all that much, he'd cheekily decided to ride the Fifty Shades wave and go by his last name of Gray. Jazz had recently teased us on this issue, especially when she found out Gray had read it, and I hadn't. I'd tried, but just couldn't get into it.

  "Ali, it's okay. You don't have to say sorry every time you forget" he said, and I had to grit my teeth at the almost condescending tone. Instead, I forced another smile.

  "Yeah, I know. It's just I'm sort of getting used to calling you Gray now."

  "Liar! But you're very cute when you lie, so I'll let you off."

  "Cute?"

  "Mm-hm. You get this blush! It gives you away every time!" he said, his brown eyes twinkling.

  Not every time.

  "So, what do you fancy doing tonight?" I asked, looking round. We'd managed to unload all the boxes from the removal van and had both mutually agreed it would be better if I unpacked them.

  "I've got a few ideas. I was going to build us a fire first, then see how you felt about christening this room?"

  I rolled my eyes and chuckled.

  "Sure. You do that while I go take a bath. I'll leave the water for you and you can jump in it when you've got the fire going" I suggested, standing up and walking toward the door.

  "Ali?"

  I stopped, frowning. My pounding head told me a migraine was on its way.

  "Yes?"

  "You forgot your tea, babe."

  I smiled and turned around.

  "Thanks. See you in a bit."

  The bath did little to soothe my pounding head, but it did help to relax the variety of knots and aches in my back and shoulders. I drank the tea Gray had made, despite it tasting like lukewarm dis
hwater. It was one of those things I'd feel irrevocably guilty about if I chucked it away. One of those stupid little things that would haunt me when he was gone.

  I got out and pulled the plug, emptying half of it so I could top it up with fresh hot water for him, then I put on my pyjamas and fluffy dressing gown and rubbed the condensation off the mirror to look at myself, taking my time. This was my latest plan. Get used to being on my own, in my own company, alone. The ends of my long blonde hair still retained a vibrant pink hue from where I'd rebelled a few weeks ago and dyed it on a whim, and I wondered how much longer it was going to hang on for? I avoided eye contact with the blue eyes in the mirror, although I was vaguely aware that they looked like the deepest, darkest sea. I avoided them because I was sure that if I stared hard enough and long enough, I'd maybe see myself drowning in them.

  With a sigh, I went out to the living room. Gray had managed to get a small fire going and was knelt in front of it holding a log.

  "Darling, your bath's ready. Want me to take over the fire?"

  "Will it still be going when I get back?" he asked, throwing a cheeky smile over his shoulder.

  "Of course. It's not exactly rocket science."

  His face told me he didn't think I could keep it going, even as he stood up and passed me the log.

  "Okie dokie, she's all yours!" With a quick peck on my cheek, he left the room and I sat in the armchair next to the fire. My eyes were drawn to the television, and I watched it for nearly ten minutes before I realised it was on an infomercial channel that was trying to sell me an 'awesome' machine for my abdominal muscles called the Ab Fabs. As I searched half-heartedly for the remote, my mobile rang.

  "Hello?"

  "Hoowaarr, ya meet any noice faarrmurrs yet moi luvvey?"

  I smiled.

  "You know that's not how they actually talk round here, right?" It was my best friend Jasmine, calling from London.

  "I thought everyone talked like that in the country?" she said in her real, clipped accent.

  "Maybe you should come down and ask around? Although there's a good chance you'll get shot. Everyone and their mother's packing round here."

  There was a short pause.

  "Isn't that a quote from Hot Fuzz?"

  "Yes." I was impressed. "I thought you hated that sort of film?"

  "Oh it grew on me after the eighth time. You know how obsessive Chris gets. And don't get me started on Shaun Of The Dead, which is his latest thang" she said, with a note of frustration. I smiled. I knew only too well about how obsessive Chris, her partner of ten years, could be. He'd get completely fixated on something for a few months and poor Jazz just had to deal with it. For instance, a few years back he'd decided he wanted to be a photographer and they'd shelled out nearly two thousand pounds on equipment and training before he started advertising himself for weddings and portraits. Unfortunately he didn't get a single booking, but managed to transition very swiftly to wanting to be a chef. The cameras were swapped for knives and this time he actually found work in a kitchen as a trainee pastry chef. Jazz had been over the moon with all the cakes and pastries he asked her to try out, and even Gray and I had been impressed with his skills. However, when their relationship had started to suffer because of the long hours he had to put in, Chris decided to hang up his chef whites and try his hand at something else.

  We spent a good ten minutes catching up before I managed to ask the question that had been burning inside me.

  "So, when do you think you'll both be able to visit?" I asked as casually as I could, missing her more than I was prepared to let on.

  "We were thinking in about five weeks? We both have that weekend free. Are you going to make us sleep in the barn, or do you have a crusty old caravan from the seventies in your back field?"

  I chuckled.

  "There's no door on the barn and I don't think you'd want to share with the cows that wander through. How about a well aired shed?"

  "Sounds rustic darling! We'll make sure we bring our designer wellies!" I knew she wasn't joking about that. They'd both bought a pair at a ridiculous one hundred and fifty pounds each. "Listen Ali, I have to go. I'll call you soon and see you in five weeks, okay? Give our love to Doc!"

  I flinched but managed to hide it from my voice as we said goodbye and hung up. Shivering, I glanced down at the fire and saw it was now a smouldering pile of embers.

  "Ah shit!" I frantically searched around for something to rekindle it, and then my eyes fell on something.

  "Hey, you kept it going! I'm impressed" Gray said when he came back in five minutes later.

  "Like I said, it's not rocket science."

  "Did I hear you on the phone?"

  "Yeah, it was Jazz. They aren't free to come for a visit until next month, so she's going to text me the dates."

  "Great! That'll be something to look forward to" he said enthusiastically, stoking the fire and putting another log on.

  "Yes. It will." Something to look forward to.

  He settled on the sofa, seeming to have forgotten about his plans to christen the place. But he looked tired and I knew he'd probably be in bed within the hour.

  Leaving me on my own.

  2

  Faith

  We spent the first week unpacking the smaller boxes and moving things around to suit our tastes, and I turned the shed outside into my project room. There was a power switch just inside the kitchen door which powered the electrics out there, and I got an engineer in to fit a strong heater and check the lighting and sockets. Then I took out the boxes of 'stuff' I'd bought to do in there, but left them unpacked for now.

  Before we'd left London, my therapist had advised me of two things. The first was to find another therapist as soon as possible if I felt I needed it, and the second was to find a creative outlet for my emotions which I normally kept bottled up.

  Since I was a teenager, I'd always found it so hard to just express how I felt. I'd keep everything locked up inside, then I'd analyse and study it all. Several times. Jazz was pretty much my only friend, and she could always tell how I was really feeling before I'd had a chance to analyse and decide for myself. She'd known I was in love with Gray while I studiously denied it. She knew when my sister died four years ago that I'd been completely devastated despite my swearing we hadn't got along well enough for me to mourn her passing. (It took nearly six months of therapy for me to admit to myself that she was right about that one. Years of not being in contact preceded by bitter rows and hate filled meetings, but yes I was still devastated.)

  So I'd splashed out on creative 'stuff' in an attempt to gain access to my evasive emotions. A variety of different papers, oils and pastels to paint or sketch, some fabrics to make blankets (I hadn't sewn since I was about five) and lastly, the one I really regretted buying, a pottery wheel and clay. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time, until I got home and showed Gray. He'd laughed and made some stupid comment about recreating the scene from Ghost. I don't think he even thought about the meaning of his words in any way, but the depth of them filled me with horror.

  Ghost. The film where they mess around on the pottery wheel…then he dies. Patrick Swayze who played Sam (the guy who died) also died. Of C. The same fucking C, for christ's sake. Like I said, I analyse.

  After that I'd decided the pottery wheel was staying in its box and the Righteous Brothers could save their sad song for someone else, because I'd also chucked the Ghost DVD away.

  By the start of the second week, I was experimenting with pastels and smudging techniques. Gray had tried to be impressed by my efforts, claiming my colourful creations to be abstract and expressive. To me they just looked messy.

  It was on the Thursday I think, that he came and knocked on the shed door, showing full respect at all times for my artistic privacy.

  "Um, Ali? Can I talk to you in the house for a minute?" he said through the door. My hand froze, gripping the cerulean pastel so tight it left indents.

  I tried to go inside casua
lly, neither in a hurry to hear what he had to say, nor too hesitant not to. It sounded serious. In the kitchen he sat at the table and rubbed a hand over his stubble. I noticed distractedly how long his dark hair had grown the last couple of months, no longer styled neatly, but hanging down past his eyebrows and swept to one side. I liked the look on him.

  "The hospital just called with the results. We were too late."

  All the air was sucked not just from my lungs, but the entire room. My ears even popped. I wanted, needed, to sit down but didn't trust my legs to carry me to the chair.

  "But…are you sure?"

  I knew he was sure. They were sure. But maybe, just maybe, he was playing a cruel trick on me. The look he gave me told me it was no joke.

  "I'm sure they weren't guessing. Yes, they're sure." He watched me with sad brown eyes while I processed this.

  After being together for eight years, married for four, I don't know why we had never thought to discuss having children. Well we had, but by then it was too late. The C had already taken hold and our first priority had been to try and get it out, fast. But now the results had come in that we'd had all our hopes pinned on. The chemotherapy had left Gray infertile. We hadn't thought to get his sperm out safely before starting the treatment and now we were too late. I'd been holding onto the idea of having his child and not being completely alone when he went, and now I would have nothing and no one. I felt sick.

  "I'm going to go to the shops and buy some wine. Do you want anything?" I asked, feeling like everything was moving in slow motion. I needed a drink.

  "Ali, can you just sit down and talk to me?"

  "I can't. Not right now, Gray. Later. We'll talk later, I promise" I said in a rush, already searching for my keys and purse.

  "Ali…"

  "Later Gray, please?"

  The difference between Jazz and Gray was that although they both knew when I was burying my head in the sand or avoiding an issue, Jazz would face it straight on or force it out of me, whereas Gray would leave me to my own devices. It was probably one of the reasons we had such a good relationship. It was also why I was so surprised when he angrily slammed his hand down on the table.