by Di Jones
Grief Is a Hungry Business
And Other Short Stories
Di Jones
Dedication
To My Readers
Each one of us has our own stories.
They may be long, with many twists and turns,
or they may be short, like these are.
Relish your stories, and tell them with flair.
Our stories are part of the fabric of who we are,
and should be treasured and shared.
The Ticking Clock
Jenny sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the suitcase on the floor. It was red, and it zipped around three sides, with a handle that pulled out. It was a large case, and it needed to be. She was packing the essentials from her wardrobe, all the things she’d need for her new life.
“How did it come to this?” she asked the empty room, but of course there was no answer, except for the ticking clock. She felt as empty as the room, but this was her decision, and she hadn’t made it lightly. She knew leaving Mike was the right thing to do. She didn’t have a choice, not really.
She’d met him one rainy winter afternoon at the supermarket. She’d noticed him first at the delicatessen, then again at the checkout. The contents of his basket were Spartan—a small block of cheese, a pint of milk, a packet of bacon, and a loaf of thick-sliced, whole-grain bread. It was the shopping of a single man. Jenny smiled at him tentatively, and he returned the smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Her heart beat faster, and she looked away, too shy to hold his gaze.
“Can I help you with those?” He’d come up behind her as she was struggling to get her bags out of the shopping cart and into her car.
“Nice to see there are some gentlemen left,” she said, tucking her auburn hair behind her ears. She wished she’d applied some lipstick before coming out.
“You’ve got a lot here,” he said. “Do you have a big family?”
“I’m one of those painfully organised people. I do my shopping weekly.”
“I try to be more organised, but it’s only me, so it doesn’t matter.” His voice trailed off, and he shifted from foot to foot.
“It’s just me too,” Jenny answered. “And my babies.”
“How many have you got?”
She saw the disappointment in his eyes. Right from the beginning, she’d been able to read him. “I have two kittens,” she said, putting him out of his misery.
“Ah, cats. So it’s just you and the cats?”
“Yes.”
Suddenly a thunderclap signalled the beginning of a downpour, and rain began to fall.
“Great to meet you,” he said. He pulled his coat collar up around his neck. “Give me a call if you need help with anything else.” He thrust a card at her, flashed her a knee-weakening grin, and sprinted to his car to escape the rain.
Back at home, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of steaming coffee, Jenny examined his business card. Mike Roper was a company director. One with even, white teeth; a wide, open smile; smooth, touch-me skin; and the greenest eyes she’d ever seen.
That was seven years ago, and the intervening years had raced by. Tomorrow would be their sixth wedding anniversary, but unlike the others, this one wouldn’t be a celebration. Mike would be spending his wedding anniversary alone. He just didn’t know it yet.
When they’d married, they’d floated in the certainty it would last forever. After all, they were soul mates and loved each other to the exclusion of everything else. So jealous were they of each other’s love and affection, they decided early on that they wouldn’t have a family, as a child would come between them. Mike, who was ten years older, already had a son by another partner. He said fatherhood didn’t suit him and was relieved to marry a woman who didn’t want children.
Jenny got up from the bed and moved over to the dressing table. She picked up one of the framed photos of her and Mike together, and a lone tear tracked down her cheek. They’d had so many happy times together, and they’d shared so many plans.
In the early days of their marriage, Mike had come home with a life-changing proposition. “Jen, love, how would you feel about living in the States? The company’s opening up a new office in Florida, and it makes sense for me to go over and set up the office, hire staff, and do everything else that needs to be done.” His face glowed as if he were a schoolboy anticipating a day off.
They spent two years in Florida then returned to England for only a few months. Then they spent another year in the sun, this time in Sydney. Jenny loved their lifestyle and the adventures of travelling, as well as seeing Mike achieve his dreams. But as exciting as their life was, she didn’t feel fulfilled.
She picked up Mike’s bottle of Eau Sauvage and held it to her nose. Citrus mingled with base notes of vetiver. Mike had worn it since the first day they’d met, and she couldn’t smell it without it thinking of his gentle hands caressing her, his lips brushing across hers, and his muscled body moving against hers as they made love.
She sighed. Life was full of ironies, and this was a cruel one for her. The man she loved so much, who said he loved her equally, refused to give her what she most wanted.
She wasn’t even sure herself when exactly she had begun to change her mind. Maybe it was on their anniversary last summer. They’d gone to dinner and walked home afterwards, wine happy and holding hands like teenagers. The air was heavy with humidity, and not a breeze stirred. When they arrived home, they made love in the garden, under the stars. As Mike’s body moved with hers, she felt herself quickening, and her core exploded in a burst of joy. As she lay in the moonlight, cradled in his arms, their damp bodies still joined, a question formed in her heart. Would a child deepen their love?
Over the following weeks and months, the thought grew in her mind, like the baby that never would grow in her body. Mike had decided to have a vasectomy soon after they’d met. “You know I don’t want another child,” he’d said, his eyes pleading for understanding. “If that’s what you want, you need to find a partner who shares your dream.”
Jenny answered without hesitation. “No, I’ve never wanted children. You’re all I want.”
At the time, she’d meant it. But once the thought of a child took root in her mind, she couldn’t shake it. It wasn’t logical; it wasn’t something she could control, but this desire to have a baby was now an instinctive part of her. It consumed her day and night until finally she broached the subject of children with him.
“Mike, have you ever thought it would be nice for us to have a baby?”
A long pause followed. “Where’s this coming from, Jenny?” he finally asked, his brow furrowed into deep lines. His tone was benign, but she didn’t miss the fact he’d called her “Jenny,” not “Jen.” “I thought we’d agreed we didn’t want children.”
She hadn’t had the courage to tell him she’d changed her mind, but she did soon afterwards. Her announcement led to a blistering argument. That was the first of many, and finally she realised there was only one way to resolve the tensions and the recriminations. She had to leave.
As much as she loved Mike, she couldn’t live without a baby. She needed to hold her own child in her arms, to gaze down into trusting eyes that depended on her for everything, and to know her life counted for something. The yearnings were so strong that she ached. Her own body was betraying her, and the need was so powerful that she feared she’d end up betraying Mike.
For an entire month, she’d thought about nothing but her dilemma. It was a long and unhappy month, during which she was snappy with her work colleagues, frosty to Mike, and constantly tired from the nights she
lay tossing beside him, sleep eluding her.
She ran her hands through her hair and examined her reflection in the mirror. Fine lines feathered the outer corners of her eyes, and experience had aged her formerly tight skin into a softer profile. But it wasn’t too late for her to be a mother, not if she left Mike now. Time was still on her side, but time was an uncertain friend.
She unzipped the suitcase. She’d have to hurry if she wanted to be gone before Mike arrived home. It was nearly four o’clock, and he’d be there in two hours. She opened the wardrobe and surveyed its contents.
Mike’s suits took up the smaller portion of the space. She fingered one of them; their quality was evident from the smoothness of the fabric. He’d had them made bespoke, said he’d never buy them off the rack. Italian wools sewn by a Hong Kong tailor. Well-cut suits for a solid, dependable man. Jenny pushed them aside.
Her dresses were arranged like the colours of a rainbow, red to the left, then orange, yellow, and through to violet. Her black and white clothes were cramped in at the end. She considered each item before dropping it into her case. Her black suit, the one she could wear to work each day, rotated with a different top. Five of them, one for each workday. Two pairs of jeans for the weekends and T-shirts to wear with them. And her red dress, the one she’d worn the first time Mike took her out to dinner. It was still her favourite, the one she wore every time she went somewhere special. She didn’t need to take it, wouldn’t wear it, but she couldn’t bear to leave it behind.
The phoned shrilled, startling her. Should she answer it? No, it wouldn’t be anything important. No one would expect her or Mike to be home in the middle of the day. She continued searching through the wardrobe. A light pullover made the grade, as did a white shirt. Once she was settled into a place of her own, she’d come back for the rest. For now she’d stay with her sister, who had only a small spare room.
The phone rang again. Who on the earth could it be? She let it ring until it stopped, and then, her curiosity piqued, she picked it up. There was a message from Mike.
“Honey, I don’t want to worry you, but I’m at the hospital.”
Had she heard that right? She stopped the message and replayed it.
“Honey, I don’t want to worry you, but I’m at the hospital. I’ve been here most of the day, but I’m going to be discharged this evening. Could you come down and pick me up as soon as you get this message? I rang your office, but they said you’d gone home early. Don’t worry, love. I’m fine. Drive carefully.”
Her heart jackhammered, threatening to pound a hole through her chest wall. She sank to the bed, her mind whirring. Had Mike been in an accident? Or taken ill? He’d occasionally had chest pains over the past few months, but the doctor had said it was indigestion. Had he suffered a heart attack?
“Please, God, let Mike be all right,” Jenny said aloud. Her voice was thin and reedy, and she heard it as if she were listening to someone else speak. It goaded her into action, and she grabbed her purse and rushed downstairs. Outside, leaves crunched under her feet. She jumped into the car and turned the key in the ignition. Nothing.
She turned the key again, and the pungent smell of gas flooded the car, mingling with the mossy odour of the decaying leaves. Fear tightened her chest, an instinctive reaction to the autumnal smells. Her mother had died on a day like this ten years earlier.
The thought of her mother crystallised her frenetic thoughts. She couldn’t bear it if she lost Mike forever. Life wouldn’t be the same without the man who loved and cared for her; the man who made her laugh, believe in life and in love.
She drove as if there were no speed limit, and when she arrived at the hospital, she sprinted in and looked around frantically until she spotted the information desk. “Mike Roper,” she said. “Can you tell me which ward he’s in, please?”
The receptionist clicked her mouse and glanced at her computer screen. “Seven A, general surgical. It’s on the seventh floor. The lifts are over there.”
But she was already running towards them, her mind racing faster than her legs. Surgical ward? What was Mike doing in a surgical ward? Had he had an accident? Or was it his heart?
The lift doors glided open, and Jenny stumbled in and quickly pushed the button, wondering whether the stairs would be faster. Finally the bell chimed seven, and she moved out of the elevator, her heart thumping. Her shoes squeaked on the gleaming linoleum, and as she approached the nurses’ station, the familiar hospital smells engulfed her. Antiseptic. Industrial-strength cleaners. Boiled cabbage. Stew. She’d smelt these every day for two months as her mother declined and became a shrunken version of the robust woman she’d been.
The nurse on duty raised her eyebrows in a silent question.
“I’m Jenny Roper. My husband Mike is here,” she said. “What’s wrong with him? Where is he?”
The nurse gave her a professional relative-of-the-patient smile. “Please follow me, Mrs Roper. He’s in room four, and he’s fine. The surgeon will explain everything, and then your husband will be discharged.”
Mike was sitting up in bed, talking to the surgeon. They turned as she approached.
“Happy anniversary, honey,” said Mike, smiling wanly. He leant over the side of the bed, and when he straightened up, he had a large white teddy bear in his hands, the cutest teddy bear Jenny had ever seen.
She looked blankly from the bear to Mike then to the surgeon.
“She’s confused,” the surgeon said to Mike. “Shall I explain?” When Mike nodded, the surgeon continued. “First, let me say congratulations on your wedding anniversary, Mrs Roper.”
“Thank you.”
“Your husband was determined to give you the best present ever.”
What did he mean, “the best present ever”? The teddy bear might be nice, but it wasn’t the best present ever.
Mike and the surgeon exchanged amused glances. “Your husband’s undergone a vasovasostomy.”
“A what?” she asked. Why didn’t this man speak in plain English? She opened her mouth to question him further, but before she could, the surgeon spoke again.
“That’s a reversal of the vasectomy he had several years ago. I’m pleased to report the operation was successful.”
Comprehension lifted the lines of worry that had settled over her face the past hour. “You’ve had your vasectomy reversed?”
“Yes. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you,” Mike said. “I love you, and I wouldn’t risk losing you for anything. I guess I’ll have to get used to a few adjustments at home, though.” He pulled her to him and kissed her tenderly.
“I’ll leave you to get dressed, Mr Roper,” said the surgeon. “You’ll be tender for the next few weeks.” He turned to Jenny. “So treat him gently.”
Later that evening, Jenny sat in bed, waiting for Mike to get undressed and join her. He came out of the dressing room and sat at the end of the bed, a puzzled expression on his face. “Your suitcase is on the floor with some clothes in it. Were you planning on going somewhere?”
Damn, she’d forgotten about the suitcase. “No,” she lied. “I decided to get rid of a few things. I have way too many clothes, and there are so many people less fortunate than us.”
She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, and thanked her lucky stars she’d realised it before it was too late. She said the words again, silently this time.
There are so many people less fortunate than us.
The Engagement
It was early evening, and dusk was approaching. The air, heavy with the fragrance of jasmine and moonflowers, caressed my parched skin. Crickets sang in the grass, creating a chorus of chiming rhythms, and owls awoke with soft calls. I felt sadness and nostalgia for times gone by, times filled with colour and laughter, times before the responsibility that fettered me today. A memory flashed in my mind: orange, turquoise, and pink silks edged with threads of silver and gold, the jewel-like colours glowing against the burnished cop
per skin of my mother and sisters. I loved our culture and our ways. I always had, until the events that brought me back here.
I walked across the flagstones towards the house. Built in the traditional Indian style, it was an impressive white-plastered building, with cool shaded verandas supported by majestic pillars. Outside the entry to the inner courtyard, tall white candles stood like sentries, their flames flickering as if they were straining to hear the sound of the early moon rising. Despite the warmth of the evening, I shivered, uncomfortable at the thought of the task that lay ahead of me.
Life in this beautiful home was easy. Too easy, as my grandparents had servants and drivers to cater to their every whim. But if you looked closely, there were hints, the smallest of hints, of the decay behind the beauty. The whisperings behind the tall carved doors, the insolent glances, the smile that lit a face but failed to reach the eyes. I loved it here, but the most important part of me yearned for home; for the cool, rainy shores of a cold, wintry New Zealand.
I wondered what Stephanie was doing and whether she would forgive me. I’d left her a month ago to come to the family home in Gujarat and do my duty. It was expected of young Indian men. Even though I’d been brought up in New Zealand and considered myself a Kiwi, it was time to follow tradition by marrying Harita, the girl my grandparents had picked for me. My parents said that with time I’d love her, and I’d examined my heart and prayed they were right. She was young, beautiful, pliant, and well versed in our culture, but she wasn’t the woman I’d left behind in New Zealand.
The one I’d left behind was the one who drank at the pub with me, cheered me on at rugby games, baked lamingtons for me, and who wanted to learn about my culture so she could raise my children in a way she knew was important to me.
When I heard voices from inside the house, I knew it was time. Harita and her parents had arrived to take a meal with us to celebrate Ganesh Chaturthi—the Hindu festival that honours the god Ganesha—and to give me an opportunity to propose to their daughter. I patted my pocket, where an engagement ring was ensconced in a tiny black-leather box. I sighed. This would be one of the hardest things I’d ever done. What experiences in life had prepared me to cut myself off from everything I loved? I didn’t have an answer to that question, but I knew what I had to do.
