Abbie's Gift

by M. R. THOMAS

  Sometimes now, even before her eyes opened in the mornings, the heaviness and sorrow would come crashing down on her.

  Then, in an instant, she jolted from her memories of the past and returned to the present, to a room full of people and to Kate, her best friend, kneeling at her side, her hand on her arm.

  “Hello you”, she said, “You were miles away then, you ok? No don’t answer that, it was a stupid question”

  “Hi, no I’m ok actually, honestly I am, I was just thinking things over”

  “You’re allowed to” replied Kate, “you look better than the last few days, that’s really good”

  Kate had visited Abbie on the evening of that day, when Rose had called her with the awful news. She had stayed awhile but felt as though she was in the way, with Peter’s mother there weeping continually. Abbie had been inconsolable, distraught. Kate had left eventually when the GP arrived and administered something potent that calmed Abbie instantly and allowed her to sleep.

  Kate had also called round each day after work, just to be there with her friend, despite the fact that she hardly responded to anything or spoke. Abbie had become a shell of her former self, hollow, empty and at times devoid of emotion but at others a complete whirlwind and torrent of sadness, uncontrollable, inconsolable in grief and tears. She had hardy eaten, hardly slept, not left her bed for several days, becoming a hermit under the safety of her duvet, refusing all visitors except Kate.

  They were best friends. They had been since their teenage years. Kate was painfully aware that Abbie needed her support now more than ever; she needed to know that her closest people would come through for her, just to be there without words; that physical presence itself would be enough.

  Abbie somehow found she was able to smile,

  “ Thank you” she said, “you know I slept well last night, the best I have for a long time, and when I woke up this morning I somehow knew that today of all days, somehow I could find the strength to get through this, I have to for Peter. I realise now that I’ve been a total basket case these past few weeks, but I felt all I could do was grieve. I didn’t actually believe it had happened, sometimes I catch myself still thinking it’s a dream, no a nightmare in fact. Somehow I’ve shifted into some ability to function; my head is all over the place but I’m managing. Well, I did have a major howl again this morning but then slept and after that felt better, you know, not as emotionally distraught as I have been up to now.”

  Kate wanted to weep and hug her friend, but contained herself.

  ”It’s a tragic situation, terrible for you, God knows how you’ve managed, but I know you’ll get through this”.

  “So everyone keeps saying” replied Abbie, “What if I don’t want to get through this, I don’t want to deal with this?” Abbie’s voice became more fragile, and Kate felt on difficult ground. “Trying is just too hard”. Abbie said, looking at her friend.

  Kate didn’t know what to say, and it was then she really saw the fatigue, the pallor, the worn-out friend behind the mask that said to the world, “I’m OK”. It worried her again.

  Just before 10.30 am, Abbie noticed that her mum was busy collecting the teacups and glasses taking them into the kitchen, and she knew then that it was almost time. A sudden wave of anguish crushed her chest and rose up to her throat, and she took a deep breath. At that moment Peter’s elder brother Alan came over to her, and squatted next to where she sat on the chair. Strangely again she felt able to raise a smile for him and she went to speak but, before she could, he placed a hand on her arm and said “the cars have arrived. They’re ready for us, it’s time to go.”

  ‘How could they be here?’, she wondered, she had not heard the door bell, then it occurred to her that someone - maybe Alan - had been keeping a look-out to prevent the door bell ringing loudly and startling people. The buzzer had always made a terrible din; how she and Peter had laughed about it as it often made them jump.

  “OK” she nodded, “I’m ready, I think.”

  Abbie was suddenly very aware of the silence that descended over the people in the room, as they made their way out of the lounge into the hall and outside into the cold sunlight.

  Although Abbie had said that she was ok, she really felt like running a mile, literally, but she knew that was not an option. Later she could run if she wanted, she thought, it would get rid of her adrenaline that was coursing through her system and help her relax a little. In the few moments that these thoughts came to her, she again realised that she had been detached from reality, because she found herself already helped into her coat and leaning on her mother’s arm as they walked into the brightness outside. She stopped abruptly when she saw the hearse with the casket inside, topped with beautiful white flowers in full bloom.

  This was in fact the first time she had been out the front of the house since that dreadful day. It felt and looked alien to her, odd, a strange, unfamiliar place. People had gathered on the pavement, their expressions solemn; for a moment, it was as if she was watching a film of herself walking to the limousine.

  ‘No’ she thought,’ this is real, my Peter is in that box,’ but then how could she be sure? After his death, she had not wanted to or been in any state to even consider seeing his body. The identification had been done by his father and brother.

  She drew a deep breath before climbing into the waiting spacious car, which sat with its engine purring idly. Somehow, that extra oxygen in her body gave her legs the strength not to buckle beneath her.

  The ride to the crematorium was only a few miles, but Abbie thought it seemed to go on forever, she even felt impatient at the slow pace of the vehicles. Initially nobody spoke; she gazed blankly out of the window. Rose sat next to her and didn’t remove her arm from her daughter’s.

  In an odd way for the first time in many days, Abbie felt a strange sense of calm; she felt that she had shed every tear in the world, and was totally dried up. It was then, suddenly, she realised that she had no idea what was going to happen at the service. Her two weeks of hysteria had meant that all the arrangements of Peter’s funeral had gone on without her

  “Mum” she said, “I don’t know what to expect, what’s going to happen?”

  Rose gripped her arm tighter.

  “Well”, she began, “Peter’s brother and his dad did all the arrangements. Although Pete wasn’t particularly religious in recent years, they decided on a C of E type service, as he’d been involved in the church, the Boys Brigade or something, when he was younger, so there’ll be a couple of hymns , a reading, a eulogy, that sort of thing”.

  “But Mum I can’t speak”, Abbie said with a real sense of alarm in her voice.

  “I can’t do it!”

  “No love, no”, Rose replied turning to look into her daughter’s anxious eyes, “you don’t have to, one of Peter’s friends is going to do it, he’s happy to it, don’t you worry”.

  Abbie felt that sudden sense of tension begin to decrease a little, and her heart rate somehow calmed down as the cars crunched over the gravel drive outside the small chapel.

  Half an hour later Abbie emerged into the sunlight. The service, full of words - descriptions, readings - somehow had penetrated her sorrow and grief at the way her life had changed, and it truly brought home to her what she had lost. It stayed with her; purposefully she had listened to the vicar, and hung on to the words of the reading from the New Testament, St John Chapter 14:

  “In my father’s house are many mansions…I go to prepare a place for you, that where I am you may be also…”

  Beautiful words of comfort she thought. Even when Stephen, Peter’s friend, had wept as he spoke, she had not shed a single tear, but listened intently to each and every word of praise and goodwill.

  As Peter’s body was committed to God’s keeping and the casket moved through the purple velvet curtains she had not dared blink, as she didn’t want to miss one moment of Peter’s final departure from her sight.

  As Abbie stood in the fresh air, with peo
ple milling round, she removed her arm from her mother’s; she felt comforted, consoled and able to stand up herself, not by being physically strong but in a way supported by the love of others who were around for her and also for Peter. She also felt strong in the knowledge that they had loved and been committed to each other. Their five years together were now for remembering. Yes, it had only been short, but at least they had had that time together.

  She no longer regarded herself as religious, but somehow felt a kind of spiritual peace had blessed her.

  Although there were people around talking and touching her arm, kissing her cheek, she noticed beyond them the blueness of the sky, the whiteness of the clouds overhead, and even the smell of the neatly-mown grass lawns between the flowerbeds in the garden of remembrance.

  Peter’s friend Stephen appeared and hugged her, and she kissed his cheek. He still had tears in his eyes.

  “Thanks for what you said; it was so lovely and kind, thank you”.

  Stephen nodded, trying to stifle his tears; Abbie knew it wouldn’t work for him.

  “It’s ok” she said, “I’ve cried so much, and continually. I just don’t seem to have any tears today, for some reason”. At that point, Stephen broke down and put his arms around her neck, sobbing as he clung on, and she felt comforted again by this genuine outpouring of love for her Peter, it warmed her. A few moments later, Stephen’s sobs subsided, but words were still beyond him just now. A few others, some familiar, others no so, offered condolences and gestures of support. Peter’s mother looked lost, so Abbie went over to her. They had never really been particularly close, but this day Abbie felt that they knew and understood each other’s grief. They did not hug but allowed their hands to clasp together between them, signifying some type of long-lost mother-in-law / daughter- in-law bond, which now would never really exist.

  Soon the funeral director was escorting the guests back to the limousines. In a way, Abbie was sad to be leaving this tranquil place so soon, but she knew that she would return.

  Everyone had more or less arrived at the same time at the pub, the Stag and Hare. The first-floor function room had been booked, with a buffet and a drinks bar available for those who wanted something stronger than tea, that magic cure for all ills; not that it had helped Abbie much over the last few days.

  Abbie thought of having a large glass of cold refreshing Sauvignon Blanc, her favourite white wine, but one that Peter said was too acidic for him, he had preferred reds. She hesitated and decided again on tea, but not for any therapeutic value; she had not drunk any alcohol since his death, she had not wanted to and felt acutely aware that its effects would only have pushed her into a deeper and darker place than where she was already, and she did not want to risk this. It soon became apparent however that many of the other guests had had no such qualms. She didn’t eat much, and alternated between sitting and walking amongst a few guests. Her mum, she thought, looked exhausted as she sat talking with a sherry in her hand.

  Kate suddenly appeared at Abbie’s side and hugged her.

  “Everyone at school sends their love and best wishes; don’t know if you saw Bill Summers the Head, he was at the chapel?”

  “Really? That was kind of him, pity I didn’t see him, I’d have liked to have said hello”, replied Abbie.

  “I’m sure there are others who would’ve liked to have been here and offered support, but I guess they didn’t want to intrude as they don’t know you that well yet.”

  Abbie and Kate were both secondary school teachers, and Abbie had recently moved to the same school as Kate at the beginning of the new school year some eight weeks ago. It had been a sideways move, not a promotion but a new challenge, and it also meant a lot less travelling for her; her previous commuting journey each day of some 45 miles each way had been tedious and tiring.

  “God” Abbie exclaimed, “They must hate themselves for giving me the job, now this has happened and I’ve been off for weeks.”

  “No they do not” replied Kate forcefully, “that’s what supply teachers are for, life’s little emergencies; Bill Summers said that himself, honestly”.

  “Honestly?”

  “Yes he did, so don’t fret, it’ll be ok.”

  They both smiled. “Or as in this case the ‘not so bloody little emergencies!” said Abbie. The unexpected humour at her own loss initially shocked Kate, but she was grateful as she thought she could see her old pal returning.

  “Exactly” she replied, returning the smile.

  Later on when most of the people had begun to disperse, and only a few family and close friends remained, Kate plucked up the courage to ask Abbie if she had any thoughts about when she might consider returning to school.

  Abbie looked surprisingly positive as she responded “Oh soon, I just can’t be specific yet you understand. I just need to feel a bit like myself again, and this is the first day that in some way I think that I have. So I want to know it’s for real and that I don’t do the jelly act again”.

  The stab at humour again surprised Kate, considering how only a few days ago Abbie had been so low and totally out of it.

  “I want to get back to some sort of normality”, then she suddenly laughed a little, shaking her head “but then I can’t can I? This isn’t normal, without Peter; with him has been my normal for a long time, not this”.

  Kate sensed anger rising in Abbie’s voice as she began to rail again at the loss of her ‘normal’.

  “Only when you’re really ready and not before, ok? Look I have to go now so I’ll call you tomorrow, yes?”

  “OK, yes”.

  “I will”

  “Good, do it, or else!” said Abbie smiling and, with a quick embrace and kiss on the cheek, Kate turned and left.

  Abbie suddenly felt exhausted and wanted to be going home. Enough of her public face for one day, she thought.

  “Mum, I really want to be going home now.”

  “Then I’m coming with you” said Rose, rising to her feet.

  “No need, honestly.”

  “No, I’m coming, besides two glasses of sherry is plenty for an afternoon,” she smiled.

  They exchanged pleasantries with the remaining guests, lingering over hugs and smiles with Peter’s family. They would stay in touch, no doubt about that Abbie thought, they would at least for a few months anyway, and then she told herself off for having such a horrid thought.

  The afternoon had developed into one of those very pleasant bright autumn days. Abbie and her mum decided to walk for a while to enjoy the air, Rose hoping it would also help to clear her head a little; Abbie also thought this as she had noticed a pinkish tinge to her mother’s cheeks.

  Eventually they realised they were too near home to bother getting a taxi, and the walk had taken longer and more energy than Abbie had expected, some 35 minutes. When they arrived at her house, she was amazed at how physically tired she felt. The house was empty. She knew that it would be, of course, but somehow in a small way still hoped it was all a terrible mistake and that her Peter would be there to greet her.

  Once inside and they were taking off their coats, Rose turned to her daughter.

  “Abbie, just so you know, I’m so proud of you, we got through it didn’t we?”

  “Yes we did, I’m not really sure how I did, but we did, thank you.” Abbie kissed and hugged her mother.

  “I’m going for a shower to freshen up.”

  “OK love, I’ll make a cup of tea”

  “Not for me just yet, I’ll see you in a bit”.

  When Abbie’s footsteps on the stairs disappeared, Rose sat in the kitchen, glad for this time alone. She sighed deeply and took a deep, deep breath calming herself, ‘what a day!’ she thought .She glanced up at the stairs when she heard the bathroom door shut and the spray of water begin from the shower head. It was only then that Rose took her own moment. She had been a tower of strength for her daughter, a refuge, a comfort, but now that crumbled inside her as she leaned on the table, her head in her ha
nds and began to cry.

  Chapter 3.

  Abbie left her clothes where they fell on the bathroom floor, which was very unlike her; she usually put away each item carefully into the wardrobes or into the laundry basket for washing.

  This time she didn’t care, she wanted the refreshing water over her and she couldn’t wait a moment longer. She wanted to feel fresh and clean as though somehow these magic waters might rescue her from the pain of her tragic loss. She enjoyed the torrent of hot soothing water as it drenched her from head to toe, she treasured its warmth. Such a simple thing taken so often for granted, but so precious and, at that moment, just what she needed. She closed her eyes and remembered that, more often than not, she and Peter would shower together. She had loved that depth of intimacy they had shared; often he would wash her hair and soap her skin. She then realised with a jolt that those moments would never happen again with him.

  She opened her eyes; the emotion rising within her as she put a hand on the tiled wall to steady herself as she felt a rush of dizziness pass through her.

  ‘No’ she thought, ‘no! I’m not ready to cry again yet, I’ve done enough’.

  She took a deep breath, collecting her senses and awareness of her surroundings, and soon that sense of emotion, the wave that had risen up in her rapidly began to dissolve and disappear, and that tranquil sense of calm that she had experienced at the chapel earlier began to return.

  The verse from the New Testament that had been read in the service came back to her, clear in her head and thoughts.

  “In my father’s house are many mansions, if it were not so I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you that where I am you may be also.”

  She wondered if she had remembered it correctly, and decided that later on she might look it up and read the whole passage, as she knew there was a Bible somewhere amongst their books, no, among her books. For some reason she didn’t know why, she could clearly recall that it was St John’s Gospel Chapter 14.