Everything (ARC)

by Catherine Miller

  She’d lost count of the number of times she had been reassured that her actions that morning wouldn’t have made a difference. Andy had died in the night. A huge blood clot on his lungs – a pulmonary embolism – had stopped the course of his life. She wasn’t to know. Even if she had, the outcome would have been the same.

  But it didn’t make any difference. The guilt remained. Because any decent wife would have noticed. They would have sensed the change of temperature. They would have brushed a hand against his skin as way of a morning greeting. They would have been connected enough with the person beside them – the love of their life – to have sensed it. She might have done, if the thoughts scrambling for attention in her head hadn’t made her distant that day. If the events of the night before hadn’t already shattered part of their lives.

  She wouldn’t ever be able to change what had happened. What she needed to focus on was now – she could work on forgiving herself.

  She’d reinvented her life. She’d changed her house, her job and her once long dark-brown hair was now cropped short and bleached blonde. So many things were different and yet there were also those beams… Settled in amongst the plaster and revealing a history she so wished to bury.

  Because of the memories surfacing, she knew she wouldn’t be able to make her cup of tea without checking first. Even though Syd and Max considered her to be a witch-bitch, she was going to make sure they were okay. It was the only way she’d manage to enjoy her morning cuppa.

  Reaching the door of Max’s bedroom, there was a low-humming snore coming from within. The sound was reassurance itself. But not enough to stop her from cracking the door enough to check that Max was still in there. She wouldn’t put it beyond the pair to hook up the room with some pre-recorded snoring.

  Seeing Max’s head on her pillow made her heart do a little kick. She seemed younger with her auburn hair strewn across the pillow; her freckles more visible. The reality might not fit any of the scenarios Tabitha had imagined, but she was going to do her best for these girls.

  Tabitha tiptoed over to the second bedroom. There were no snoring sounds, no early sign that all was okay. She pushed the door open, accidently hitting Syd’s foot that had sprawled beyond the comfort of the bed.

  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ Syd said from her wonky position.

  ‘Sorry,’ Tabitha replied, smiling as she said it. That was one way to ensure her bitch status on their hierarchy of nicknames. She closed the door, returning to her tea-making, comforted by their presence.

  It was a new feeling having these girls under her roof. It was as if she was trying on a dress in the changing rooms, knowing that it was one that she really liked and really wanted, but somehow it just didn’t fit properly. But rather than get a different size or try a different style, somehow she was going to make it work.

  And having made that decision – of trying to make it work despite the odds being in totally the opposite direction – she was determined to do her best for these kids. However temporary it may be, they were hers. It made her heart high-jump all over again knowing that this morning they were in her home and they were snoring and swearing, demonstrating that they were very much alive.

  It was exactly the way she liked her mornings to start.

  Six

  Now

  If huffing were an Olympic sport, Tabitha was going to sign up the twins immediately. Or if flopping back onto sofa cushions was a category, she would place a bet on Syd and Max getting gold and silver medals. Lofty might even get the bronze, although his copycat behaviour included burying his head under a cushion, as if shielding himself from all the hormones that were gathering in dust clouds around them all.

  ‘Honestly, that’s how things are, believe it or not,’ Tabitha said in response to their protests.

  ‘You’re an adult. How is it you can’t drive?’ Max was most put out. That and the fact that Little Birchington wasn’t serviced by a bus route. This was the closest to rural they’d ever been.

  Tabitha shrugged. ‘I’ve never passed my test, but I manage to get by.’ With lifts from friends and walking, there wasn’t anywhere she couldn’t get to and online shopping solved half the problems.

  ‘How though? You live in the middle of nowhere! I’ve never known anyone who needed a car more.’

  Max, having reached upright, flung herself back into the cushions again. If either of them carried out the move again, Tabitha was going to work out a scoring system for delivery and landing.

  ‘I haven’t always lived here, you know.’

  It was strange to think she’d been told much of the twins’ history, but they knew little about hers.

  ‘Why did you move to somewhere so boring? There’s nothing for us to do!’ Syd said. She often didn’t seem to have as much to say as her sister, striking Tabitha as being quieter, but more astute.

  ‘This house has been my dream project. I wanted to create a home that would be suitable for fostering. When this was a barn it was quite the wreck. I’ve got photos if you want to see them.’ It was hard to not to go into too much detail about how the restoration had been like reviving her – a project in itself.

  ‘Nah, you’re alright.’ Max remained folded into the sofa this time.

  It had been worth a try. Tabitha would have to find other ways to connect with them. ‘How far did you walk last night? I think you’re both due a tour of the area.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Syd flunked back again.

  Only a three-point-two score for that one, Tabitha mused. She then said with a smirk on her face, ‘Walkies.’

  Lofty moved, disrupting the girls’ positions by hurtling over them.

  ‘Get your shoes on then,’ Tabitha prompted as she clipped on Lofty’s lead.

  ‘Walking is naff.’ Max was protesting and yet she was moving.

  ‘It isn’t when you’re doing it for pleasure. Lofty loves walkies. If you do it often enough, you’ll find it therapeutic taking him out.’ Tabitha’s daily walks with the dog were unarguably her favourite time of the day. Their ventures had helped her heal over the past few years. Lofty had never accepted moping as an excuse to not head out.

  Once she was outside, Tabitha was glad to have Lofty on his lead. She didn’t always use it, as she trusted him enough to answer her calls and he was as soft as anything. But they would have been halfway down the lane by now, and the girls were nowhere near. At least Lofty wouldn’t wander off while they waited.

  When the sisters did finally join them, Tabitha took them in the direction of the garage first. Perhaps if they met the owner, they’d be less likely to graffiti the side of his building where they’d been caught in the act of defacing the bin. Their case worker hadn’t mentioned vandalism as being one of their pastimes. She had to hope it wasn’t a new hobby of theirs.

  ‘My friend, Lewis, runs the garage. We’ll pop in and say hi. I know there isn’t much to do around here, but he’s said you can get some work experience if you ever want to.’

  ‘You know we’re only fifteen. We don’t have to do work experience until next year.’ Max’s face distorted with disgust.

  ‘I’m just making sure you’re aware there isn’t nothing to do.’ Tabitha had to look towards the hawthorn bushes to stop herself from laughing. Pleasing these two was clearly going to be much harder than converting a barn.

  ‘In your opinion,’ Max said. She’d gathered her long hair over her shoulder and was twisting it in her hands.

  ‘What were you up to last night then?’ Tabitha hadn’t quizzed them over it yet. It had been late when they’d been returned and she’d been more focussed on getting them into bed without further drama.

  ‘Not what they said. It was artwork. And the lighter wasn’t to set anything on fire,’ Syd said, offering to take Lofty’s lead.

  ‘You had a lighter?’ This was news to Tabitha. ‘Where is it now?’

  ‘Took it, didn’t they. There’s nothing to worry about. Honest,’ Max said.

  What was it about someone addi
ng honest to the end of the sentence that made it seem entirely dishonest?

  ‘But if you weren’t trying to light the bin, what were you up to?’ Quizzing the girls might not be the wisest move, but curiosity was driving her to it. She wasn’t sure why they would have needed a lighter.

  ‘It’s just my thing. Honestly, you can chill,’ Max said.

  ‘Why would you need a lighter to make art?’

  ‘Just experimenting.’

  ‘Right… And the police turning up?’

  ‘Just unlucky.’ Max shrugged, seemingly at ease with the idea.

  Tabitha decided not to press any further. It was probably for a cheeky fag or suchlike and if so, the signs for that would be pretty obvious over the coming days.

  ‘Here we are. Meet Lewis.’

  Lewis was in his dark-navy boiler suit, his shaved head popping up from under the bonnet of the white van he was working on. He waved a hello to the girls, his dimples showing when he smiled. ‘Welcome.’

  ‘Lewis always has work on so there will be opportunities to learn if you want to. Knowing about cars might be useful in the future.’

  ‘Says the woman who doesn’t drive!’ Syd’s eye roll was enough to make Tabitha wonder whether she’d discovered another Olympic sports category.

  ‘Touché.’ Tabitha was happy to admit defeat when it was delivered so well.

  ‘To what?’ Max said.

  So worldly-wise yet so much left to learn.

  ‘It’s a fencing term.’ Tabitha did her best to explain, but within seconds it was clear to see it was falling on deaf ears.

  ‘Is there really nothing else to do round here?’ Max asked.

  ‘There’s plenty to do, but most of it will require walking some distance. Otherwise you can help me landscape the back garden.’

  Syd grimaced. ‘Show us where we need to walk for fun, would you?’

  ‘I’ll catch up with you soon, Lewis.’ It was strange not to be stopping for a cuppa, but no doubt that would be classed as boring by these two teenagers.

  Tabitha let Lofty off his lead, deciding to take the twins down to the castle first. It was a quirky piece of local architecture and she always liked to walk Lofty in that direction. The only other place on the agenda was the bus stop up the road from there. There weren’t many other options she would be able to magic out of thin air, but the bus would get them to Margate beaches and she was sure they’d be able to amuse themselves there.

  ‘Are we allowed to take the dog for walks by ourselves?’ Max asked. The early signs suggested she was besotted.

  ‘Of course, once you’re used to him and he’s used to you.’ It wasn’t something Tabitha had considered. Lofty was the most precious thing in her life. They’d have to prove they were trustworthy enough to care for him in the way she did. ‘We’ll head to the castle. Do ghosts count as fun?’

  ‘Are there really ghosts?’ Syd asked.

  ‘Lofty will soon growl if there are any about. But he never has on any of our visits.’ Besides, there was only one spirit she wished to be reunited with.

  ‘Do they really sense things like that?’ Syd asked, stroking Lofty’s head as he sniffed her leg, somehow knowing he was part of the conversation.

  ‘They really do,’ Tabitha said, swallowing back the familiar oncoming sense of guilt, not wanting to clarify any further. ‘You’re not as daft as you look, are you Lofty?’

  The dog continued to lead the way, tracing his nose along the grassy edges of the farm-track’s banks as the wheat fields danced their greeting. He was enjoying the affection of the two girls, darting from one loyalty to the next as he went.

  For Tabitha, it felt as poetic a moment as she’d had thus far. All the work of building her version of a family life was beginning to pay off. For the moment she was with her two foster daughters and her daft dog and all was right with the world.

  If only her ghosts would stop troubling her.

  Seven

  Then

  In the days that had followed Andy’s death, Tabitha found herself paralysed. Disbelief waved through her on a continuous loop to the point she wasn’t able to function.

  It had been her father who had come to her rescue that day. When she’d not known what to do with herself, he’d taken her by the hand and given her a safe harbour. Ever since she’d become a hermit living on the sofa at his retirement flat. She wanted to do nothing more than hide away from the world.

  None of it seemed real. This was not her life. These were not the things that should be happening. Andy should be picking her up from a day of working at the school and they should be having heated discussions about what egg-based dish to make from the surplus supply her mother-in-law always sent them. She wanted to be having a stupid argument over whether to make a frittata or a quiche. She wanted to grumble about the after-effects their protein-heavy diet was having. She wanted those stupidly pleasant moments of laughter and noise back in her life. Because those were the daily moments she was used to. They were what made her life and the love for her husband complete.

  But all of that had been lost since she’d realised Andy wasn’t breathing. The pale tinge of his skin, the blueness of his lips. It had told her everything she’d needed to know and even though she was living the truth of it every moment, it was still a crushing impossibility. And the guilt of not spotting there was a problem straightaway was immobilising her ability to function.

  ‘There was nothing you could have done,’ had been repeated to her many times in the past two weeks. But hearing that wasn’t making it any easier. Andy was forty-one. It was an age for creating life, not losing it. And now, they’d never have that chance.

  Nothing had prepared her for all the things that would follow. Not even her dad’s support and the experience of having lost her mum a decade earlier. That had been expected; a gradual deterioration they’d known was coming. A cancer diagnosis caught too late when she’d only been in her fifties. But they’d had months to make the most of her remaining time. This was something else. Her husband had been ripped away from her without warning.

  Because of Andy’s age and the circumstances of his death, there’d been lots of questions for Tabitha to answer, each with an element of suspicion. They’d had to carry out an autopsy to ensure it was natural causes. Generally speaking, healthy males didn’t die in their sleep.

  The aftermath of those first few days were part of what was breaking her: too many heartless words and wrongful glances. So-called friends on Facebook making unfounded judgements when it wasn’t their place to. She’d stepped away from social media when old school friends who she hadn’t spoken to in years started asking her for details of her husband’s death. Becoming a hermit was far more preferable. When the autopsy results did come in, they confirmed Andy had died of natural causes: a pulmonary embolism. A big blood clot on the lungs had snuck up and stolen him away in the night.

  Knowing what was to blame should have somehow made it easier, but it didn’t when Tabitha was still blaming herself. Maybe if things had been different he’d still be here. If she hadn’t gone out. If she hadn’t woken him. If she’d have waited until morning. No one was really able to reassure her when they didn’t know the whole truth.

  ‘Are you ready, love?’ her dad, Frank, asked.

  Tabitha’s father had been doing everything for her in the wake of Andy’s death. He’d been secretary, chauffeur, cook and much more beyond. He’d been a rock while she’d lost her way.

  ‘Do we have to?’

  ‘It’s best to get it over and done with.’

  Tabitha knew her father was right even though he made it sound as simple as yanking off a plaster. Perhaps that’s what she was: an open wound that needed to be aired. She didn’t want to be away from the sofa and out of the house, but it was an improvement to be showered and dressed today. She just knew that healing was a long way off, if ever. Today, she simply hoped they didn’t bump into anyone. She didn’t want to deal with the questions or the explanations.<
br />
  By the time they arrived at the registry office for their appointment, Tabitha wished she’d stayed in her cocoon. Everything was too raw for her to be exposed to the parade of normal life carrying on around them.

  ‘They said it won’t be more than five minutes. We just need to wait here,’ said Frank.

  ‘All this for a piece of paper.’ Tabitha wasn’t sure if she wanted to sit down. She wanted to run away. If there was anything in the world that she’d choose not to wait for, it was this. Holding her husband’s death certificate would make it so absolute.

  ‘Mrs Sanderson,’ the receptionist called.

  Tabitha stiffened at the sound of her name. The surname her husband had gifted her. The husband she was now without. She didn’t want to be in receipt of the piece of paper. She didn’t wish to see Andrew David Sanderson inked upon a page along with the word ‘death’. The two shouldn’t be in association with each other. And yet they were. And it was something she was supposed to adjust to.

  Like Tabitha had done for the past two weeks, she allowed herself to move where she was told, do what she was supposed to. Her body was moving, but her mind was elsewhere. It was the only way she was able to function. Autopilot would only get a person so far and if she was relying on her system she was pretty certain it would take her straight back to bed. Instead, her father was helpfully leading the way. ‘One step at a time’ was the mantra he kept repeating to her.

  Now the envelope was in her shaking hand, Frank guided her back to his car. ‘It’s time we got you home.’

  ‘Yes. Home,’ Tabitha repeated, absent-mindedly.

  But it was such a foreign concept. Home had been her husband. Without him, she wasn’t sure where it was.