Abbie's Gift

by M. R. THOMAS

  She imagined Peter laughing at her if he knew she wanted to look up a passage in the Bible.

  “Careful or you’ll want to be a nun next!” was the type of sarcastic comment that he’d make when teasing her.

  ‘A nun’ she thought, ‘a bit late for that….’ but then again she now realised that his death meant by all reason some period of celibacy, enforced and not welcomed. She quickly turned off the shower and wrapped a large fluffy bath towel around her body, and snuggled into its gentleness and warmth drying herself.

  In the bedroom, Abbie looked at her naked form in the full-length mirror, for the first time in two weeks. She immediately saw that she looked thinner, or was it the mirror distorting the image, like a funfair sideshow teasing her? No, she knew that, in two weeks of having hardly eaten along with the hysteria she had suffered, that this meant weight loss, it wouldn’t mean anything else. She always thought that she had a good physique, not too rounded and ideal for sports and athletics. Now the recent weight loss made her body look a bit more boyish, her curves had now flattened out a little. She thought to herself that in a way she liked this leaner version of her shape; if she tensed her abdomen some of the muscles were clearly visible and defined. She liked this and thought an increase in hard exercise would help her maintain this new leanness.

  She combed her wet hair and put on some loose cotton jogging trousers. Deliberately and carefully, she picked a white polo shirt of Peter’s hanging in his wardrobe and put it on. It hung loosely from her frame; she held the fabric to her nose but could only really smell cleanliness and fabric conditioner. She then looked up and she saw on the hook behind the bedroom door his towelling bathrobe, the one she had bought him when they first moved in together some 2 years ago, as he didn’t have one at the time. That was before they bought this house, when they initially shared his flat as she had moved in there because it was larger than her own.

  Now she carefully took the dressing gown down off the hook. How, over recent days, had she not noticed it? When she had so wanted something real of his close to her? She felt its fluffy soft cotton fabric, warm as always, and she held the material to her face and inhaled deeply.

  There he was in an instant, it was Peter’s smell, and it was so real to her, exactly him. A beautiful fragrance she thought, reminiscent of wood spice and soap. She hugged the piece of clothing tightly as she breathed him in, longing for his arms to be around her.

  “I love you, I love you, I love you so much,” she whispered into the cloth, half willing it to respond.

  Then, sounding as natural as anything she had ever experienced, a voice, Peter’s voice, said so clearly back to her - “I love you.”

  Did I really imagine that or did he just speak to me? she thought, as she looked around the room, completely unsure.

  Giving herself a mental shake, she placed the dressing gown on the end of the bed and went downstairs.

  Her mum was gently dozing in an armchair; the wall clock showing that it was already 3.45 pm.

  ‘Where does the time really go?’ she said to herself.

  Abbie let her mum carry on sleeping, realising that she must be so tired after all she had done the past weeks. She went into the kitchen and poured herself a large glass of water which she gulped down in one without stopping, satisfying a thirst that somehow had only became apparent to her once she’d begun to drink.

  Abbie sat in silence, listening to the faint tick of the kitchen wall clock, lost in her own thoughts. She did not feel any sense of emotional sadness, just an emptiness that seemed to fill her entire body and mind.

  How many days was it now since she had not seen or spoken to Peter? Since he went running and did not come home? She ached for him, longed to see him, and to speak with him, to hold him, but realisation that those things would never happen again was filtering through her sense of general bewilderment that had now become her reality. She felt somehow that, despite all the recent turmoil, she wanted and needed to get back to some regular routine of living and purpose. She deliberately avoided using the word ‘normal’ in her thoughts as whatever ‘normal’ was in the future, for her it had to be learned, discovered, found. Her past experience of ‘normal’ would remain exactly that, past, but forever etched in her memories.

  Where do I start? she thought to herself.

  Abbie had always been a real self-starter, a getting-things-done type of person, never one to procrastinate; she would and could produce order out of chaos and she felt, somehow, that she needed to do this now to try and rediscover some routine and meaning in her life.

  She was suddenly aware of movement behind her, and turned to see her mum yawning and standing in the doorway.

  “You should have woken me up, dear”

  “No Mum, it was good to see you resting, you need it.

  “Rest, well that comes easy with drinks in the afternoon! I can’t remember the last time I had a drink in the day, and it knocked me out but have to admit I feel better for the sleep.

  “You hungry?” she asked Abbie, opening the fridge.

  Later that evening, though the TV was on, Abbie couldn’t really pay attention, nor in fact did she want to. She endured it for her mum; it would be so unfair to go to her room and leave her mother alone. So she sat there in silence, fixated on the screen but with no detail or information passing into her brain. Every now and then she was aware of being in a sort of daydream, being distant and having a sense of detachment, whilst not really thinking of anything, and she realised this was an unconscious and very effective way of coping and avoiding the present.

  As a child, her parents used to say that she had a good imagination: playing with toys and imagining friends in the garden for hours during those long hot summers that no longer ever seem to happen. She had also had the ability - and still did - to lose herself completely in a good film or novel, but this sense of detachment she was experiencing now, she didn’t like. It was not fun or playful; it hurt and haunted her with the reality of her life.

  Now she felt unable to find an escape. She was, in all senses, alone in a strange and fragile place. Then again, in a way that she could not yet explain, she also felt strong and determined; she had to be for herself. The help of others had been there for her, but her life somehow had to go on, and she alone was responsible for that, as nobody else, ultimately, could help her.

  At 10 pm, for the first time in many days, she felt that she wanted to sleep. The need for sleep that had previously deserted her, and had only occurred in small quantities, she wondered had it returned to play games with her again? Now she felt that she had genuine fatigue, but would the night allow her to rest, or keep her again a prisoner in a state of restless insomnia?

  After a quick supper of a cheese sandwich and tea, Abbie got into bed. She then saw Peter’s robe on the end of the bed and she brought it over to where she would lie, placing it on the bed to cover her side. She lay there in the dark, holding the robe up to her chin over the top of the bed covers. Her thoughts of Peter drifted as she became aware of that place between wakefulness and sleep that was washing over her.

  Chapter 4

  When Abbie next opened her eyes, she immediately felt refreshed, but again the sudden new reality of her life soon steamrollered its way back in to her waking thoughts. She lay staring at the ceiling, lost again in a sense of bewilderment as to how to begin her life over again.

  Abbie knew that any further sleep was beyond her now; her mind was too active and muddled. In the dim morning light that was shining in through the window, she saw that the clock was showing 7 am. This was her usual time for getting up on most days, so no reason why her body should alter its own rhythm. She listened for a few minutes to see if she could hear her mother, but there was only silence in the house.

  In an instant she decided to get some exercise and fresh air. Soon she was up; she splashed some water on her face, dressed and was out of the door within about 15 minutes. She left a note on the kitchen table that simply said: ‘Gone for
a walk 7.15 am back soon’.

  Abbie had dressed for the autumn day, but didn’t wear a hat; she decided that she wanted to feel the freshness of the breeze in her hair. She strode at a fairly quick pace along the roads from her house and decided to walk to the edge of town and up the hill to the war memorial at the top, from where you could see the whole town. The ground was hard underfoot on the paths; not frosty but crisp, winter was on its way. Nothing specific was in her thoughts, just focusing on walking quickly was enough for her mind just now.

  After about 20 minutes, Abbie arrived at the bottom of the hill. The narrow path to the top rose up steeply, the ferns and heather so thick it made the path difficult in places to follow. She had to be careful with rocks and uneven pathways to avoid stumbling. She found the ascent hard- going at such a brisk pace, and some 200m from the top she had to pause for breath. She was now very hot and her thigh muscles burned with the effort of the uphill walk. Her heart pounded in her chest as she gulped in fresh air into her tired body.

  A barking dog shattered the silence as it stopped on the path above her, but then in an instant it turned and fled in the opposite direction.

  Abbie took deep breaths, and waited for her breathing and pulse to begin to return to normal. This hill was steep but she had expected that she would get to the top without having to stop. Once her breathing had some degree of regularity, Abbie headed off again up the path, attempting the same pace and effort, but it was almost impossible; her legs were too heavy and tired. The final push, this effort, was very hard for her; her limbs didn’t want to respond to the rising gradient and her calf muscles burned and almost cried out to her to stop.

  But at last, Abbie reached the top and she felt a huge sense of achievement, almost allowing herself a smile. She began to feel that she had taken the first steps to her new life, tiring and difficult ones, but the first steps nonetheless.

  At the top of the hill was a large plateau with a war memorial at its centre, a large granite obelisk with a bronze statue of a group of soldiers standing together; the inscription read “Lest we ever forget”. There were rows and columns of names from the two world wars.

  Memories etched forever in bronze, but surely they were forgotten, she thought? After all, who could recall who these men were, and what they were like, really? Their current families couldn’t possibly know. These men, some undoubtedly very young, were now immortalised due to their sacrifice. The bronze sculpture of the battle-dressed soldiers with their heads bowed struck a sombre pose, as though they were in prayer and thought, or was it death, like those sculptures on medieval caskets in churches? The very presence of the statue before her made her feel a sense of gratitude for these sacrifices that had been made so that she could live and be free. She had always bought poppies in November, but felt that war was such a tragic waste of valuable lives, and she recalled that it was now still going on in distant lands the world over. It now seemed to put her own grief into perspective, and she felt a pang of guilt at what she felt was her own recent selfishness.

  Abbie surveyed the view from the plateau; the whole town was visible if you walked round the memorial. Abbie looked carefully and traced the roads; she was sure that she could make out part of the roof of her house; at least she thought she could.

  The grey sky was turning blue and the sun was starting to show through the clouds. A cool but pleasant day, she thought. The ferns were swaying and rustling gently in the wind, and in the distance she could hear the gentle hum of traffic as the day started, the noise of the town waking to another day, beginning its existence all over again. She could even make out in the distance the part of the woods where Peter had gone running and from where he’d never returned. The tree tops looked innocent in the morning light, and she bore them no grudge. She was surprised to see that, from this height and angle, the woods did not stretch far as she had imagined, but appeared to cover only a small patch of ground, maybe a few hundred metres before opening out into the fields beyond.

  Abbie knew that one day, maybe soon, she would have to visit the woods at some point, just to see and experience them, but not to lay flowers on the ground or tie them around a tree; she thought that was unnecessary.

  Abbie closed her eyes and soaked up the fresh air and inhaled. She knew then that to get her life back to some order she needed a plan to follow. She let herself accept that there would at some point be tears again, and that was all right too, but she needed a plan to progress. She knew that exercise was a good and positive diversion and useful for stabilising a person’s moods, releasing natural endorphins and feel-good chemicals, and good for getting rid of the adrenaline caused by anxiety.

  Exercise, she thought, that would be a start, in fact, it had started, and here she was in the fresh air, at the highest local point enjoying the view and feeling positive and starting to make plans. Abbie still felt a huge emotional void in her life, but for the first time in a long time, even with that feeling heavy over her she felt OK.; not terrific, just OK and for now OK would do, OK felt good.

  The plan, she thought, would be simple: deal with the legalities - banks, mortgage, insurances and so on, and let people know what had happened. Indeed there would be quite a few people to contact so not all at once, she decided, a few each day, a work in progress. She would also start to exercise each day, and maybe, she thought, she would write down some of her own thoughts about her and Peter, their life, and how she felt now. Maybe that too would help her. Maybe, but not today; that idea seemed good but she realised she wasn’t ready for that just yet

  Abbie decided that all of those things would be a good start, and maybe in a week or two she could consider returning to work. Everything in her plan seemed do-able and achievable, but one obstacle she knew lay in her path: how to get her mum to go home.

  Yes, Abbie was grateful for all her mum’s support and just for being there, more grateful than she could ever express, but now it was time to be alone and to face the new and challenging world on her own.

  Abbie looked around and became aware that she was the only one on top of the hill, so she decided to jog back down the path. It was steep and needed care, the ground loose and uncertain in places. She felt capable of tackling it and set off at a steady pace. Each jolt from the uneven path sent a pain up her thighs, and she thought that she might lose her footing, but after a few minutes she had descended the hillside and arrived at the bottom where the track joined a road. Again, she felt a good sense of achievement. Her breathing was laboured and deep, her cheeks felt flushed and tingling in the morning air. Once on the road she walked briskly again.

  When Abbie arrived back home, her mother was already in the kitchen boiling the kettle, and she looked at her anxiously.

  “There you are! Is everything alright? You’ve been gone a while.”

  Abbie noticed that it was now 8.50 am, and that she’d been gone much longer than she’d expected.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you” replied Abbie. “I felt like going out when I woke up, so I went for a walk and it was lovely and fresh in the morning air. I went up the hill to the war memorial it’s a great view. I got us some breakfast on the way home from the bakery - fresh croissants. Pass the butter, I’m starving”

  Rose smiled, and saw a flicker of the old Abbie coming back. “Great, I’ll make some coffee,” replied Rose.

  Over the next half-hour they ate, drank fresh coffee and chatted like they had always done. There was no humour between them but that was comfortable for both of them, it was like they had always chatted - with warmth and affection, neither of them displaying a hint of sadness.

  Abbie explained her decision to her mother and her plan to start to get things sorted out.

  “I’ll help anyway possible, you only have to ask, I’m sure Peter’s parents would also.”

  “I know,” Abbie began “but some things I have to start myself.”

  That morning, for the first time in two weeks, Abbie turned on the PC and drafted a general letter ex
plaining the circumstances of Peter’s death, each copy to include a death certificate. When she looked at this legal piece of paper for the first time, she felt a rising sense of apprehension and panic: her stomach knotted, and the adrenaline made her heart pound in her chest so much that she felt nauseous, and had to go and get a glass of water.

  The copies of the letters she produced each had a gap so she could hand-write any relevant account or policy numbers, and she printed enough copies for the bank, mortgage and insurance companies. Strangely then Abbie felt mentally exhausted and that her concentration was waning so she decided she had done enough for one day, and asked her mum to check the letters. Once this had been done, they were placed in envelopes ready for posting, and thus the new plan had begun to evolve.

  For the rest of the day Abbie didn’t do much, she simply wandered the house unable to settle. At three in the afternoon her mum announced that she would make some tea, and that she would like to speak to Abbie about something important; her tone of her voice alarmed Abbie somewhat.

  When they sat down with their steaming mugs, Rose began to speak and took hold of her daughter’s hand.

  “You know Love, there is something I have to mention, and there will never be a good time to do it. I don’t want to upset you but there is another important job to consider, one that we have not yet spoken about, something we have to do.”

  Abbie looked at her mother’s concerned face.

  “Go on” she said worriedly.