by Ellie White
I finally gain enough control to stop my fingers tapping.
"I sent a text to my assistant to say I was in too much pain with my foot and wouldn't be in today. I sent another to Jake and told him I had to take a few days off and that I'm sorry." I can't help the tears that now spill down my cheeks.
"Oh, Maggie, no," she says as she wraps her arms around me. "Don't do this to yourself."
"As soon as I closed the door behind him this morning, everything perfect that had happened this weekend felt like I was betraying him."
"You can't think like that," she says, taking my hands in hers, knowing that I wasn’t talking about Jake anymore. "He would want you to be happy. He wouldn't want you to be alone and Jake has been so good for you these last six weeks. Look at how far you've come! If Philip could see you, he would be glad you've found love with Jake."
Ever since that night eight years ago, I've hidden my grief from everyone, hiding the pain I've felt to make other people feel better. I did it to protect my parents, my in-laws, my friends, Laura but I can't hide this anymore.
I didn't want them to see how broken I was, how much pain I was in just by living, but there’s no way around that anymore. I was broken and in pain. It hurt to exist without him and, during dark times, I didn't want to exist without him.
The tears flow heavier as I struggle to keep myself in check.
"Is that really what’s going on here?" she asks me.
I have an urge to shut down, to put on my usual act and pretend that I'm perfectly fine but the way my best friend looks at me now lets me know that it's safe to let go.
So, I do.
"I have this recurring dream every night and it feels so real. I'm in the kitchen, I'm cooking dinner and Philip walks in. It looks like him but older, as though he's been ageing with me. He walks over to me, kisses my head and says ‘Maggie, I'm here, it's going to be okay’. Then, I wake up and it’s not real and I lose him all over again. Every single day. Last night, I had a different dream. He told me that he loves me and that he's happy where he is now. Laura, those dreams were the only thing I had left of him. I'm starting to forget what it was like to be with him. I'm forgetting what his voice sounded like or what he smelled like. I'm scared I'll forget him completely if the dream doesn't come back tonight. I'm falling in love with Jake and I'm worried that it means I'll stop loving Philip."
Laura looks to me with her own tears falling down her cheeks. "I'm forgetting him, too, Maggie."
We sit on her little couch in her small office, crying together over our loss for the first time. Neither one of us were pretending to be okay because we aren't, we never have been. That's the first time I see the pain in her eyes reflecting the pain in mine because, for all the time I have been pretending to be strong for her, she's been doing the same for me.
"You need to tell this to Jake," she says eventually. "If you can't be with him, you need to tell him but I think that would be a mistake." I hold her hand, a silent thank you to show my appreciation for her. "For what it's worth, I don't think it's a case of loving Phillip or loving Jake. I think it’s a case of loving them both for different reasons. I know Jake; he'll never hold your love for Philip against you. He loved him, too. I've never seen anyone as distraught as the way Jake was when he said goodbye to him that New Year’s Day."
I know she's right - deep down, I do - but the irrational part of my brain makes me want to shut out the world and organise my brain again, to try and lock those boxes back up.
"Do you mind if I hide in your flat today? I just want to hide out so I can figure out what I'm going to do. I don't want Jake to know where I am."
"He'll want to know that you're safe. I think you at least owe him that. If you can't make that call, I can."
***
It turned out that hiding in Laura's flat was no better than being at home, even if she did bring me baked snacks every so often. Jake called me every hour, leaving voice messages that sound more and more desperate as they go on. Each time I heard his voice felt like a white-hot knife was being plunged into my heart. I ignored his calls, not knowing what I would say when I eventually spoke to him.
Jake: Maggs, what's going on? Sasha said you're in a lot of pain. You never call in sick to work and I know you were fine a couple of hours ago so please just call me so we can talk about this.
Jake: Maggie, it's me again. Laura called me. Please, call me back.
Jake: I know you have your phone in your hand. I can see you're replying to emails. I'm begging you, just call me back.
Each voice message he left brought a fresh batch of tears because I had no idea where to begin explaining this all to him.
It's Thursday afternoon when there's a knock at my door. I look through the peep hole, half expecting to see Jake again but, instead, see the towering figure of my brother.
Jake only tried to come see me once, on Tuesday night. One of my neighbours must have let him in since he didn't ring my buzzer.
"Maggie, please talk to me," he pleaded with me through my door as I sat, listening on the other side. "We can work through whatever is going on. Trust me, all you have to do is just let me in."
I didn't.
Instead, I listened to him beg while I cried until my eyes dried up.
On Wednesday, I decided I would load up my laptop and work from home so I didn't look like I had completely abandoned my responsibilities. It helped me feel like I had some sort of control in my life.
Wednesday afternoon, Jake sent me flowers with a note saying, ‘I'm still here when you're ready to talk about it’.
Today, he hasn't tried speaking to me at all.
I sigh as I pull down the latch and open the door to let my brother in.
"Well, you look as shit as Jake."
"Thanks," I say sarcastically as I straighten my 'Do you even golf, bro' T-shirt and brush food crumbs off my leggings. "He told you?"
"Laura did, minus the sordid details, thankfully. I didn't need that imagery. I called over there last night to make sure he was okay."
"Oh?" is all I can muster up as I well up again.
"He's not, by the way. He's anything but okay but, since you jumped ship, he's had to pretend that everything is fine with work," he says, stabbing me in the heart with his words. I should have guessed he would be on Jakes side. He did warn me, after all. "What's going on with you? You were both so happy the other night. So, why are you sabotaging yourself?"
I can't bring myself to answer as I hobble back to my chair having finally mastered walking with one crutch.
"Come on, if you're not going to talk to him, at least talk to me."
"I made a vow, James, on my wedding day. I vowed to love him in life and death," I shout, burying my face in my hands.
He sighs as he takes a seat next to me in silence.
"I think you should read the letter."
"How do you know about that?"
"He told me about it the night before your wedding."
"How do you know I haven't?"
"Because, if you knew what he had written, you wouldn't be sat here like this. You'd be with Jake, living happily ever after."
"Do you know what it says?"
"Yeah, I do, but the words shouldn't come from me. You need to read the words he wrote to you. It's the only way you'll believe them."
"What if something happens and I lose Jake, too? I'd never recover from that," I say, voicing those worries for the first time. I don't know what I would do if I had to go through that pain again.
"You walk out that door every day, knowing you could be hit by a bus. Doesn’t stop you, though, does it?" He shrugs. I pull the letter out of the drawer in the coffee table in front of me and turn it over in my hands. "I'll leave you to it."
He stops as we reach the front door. "You should know, Philip knew. He knew that Jake was in love with you from the start and it ate Jake up how nice he was about it. You're forgetting they were close, too. It took Jake a long time to get over his feeling of b
etrayal and guilt. Why do you think it took so long for him to make a move?”
He gives me a long hug before I close the door behind him and hobble back to my spot on the sofa. I stare at the envelope for such a long period that it's getting dark by the time I look up again.
I decide I can't read the letter in this state so I grab a shower, taking extra time to blow dry my hair. Then, I take a slow walk to the corner shop and buy some Cadbury's chocolate fingers (Philips favourite) and a bottle of wine.
When I get home again, I change into my fluffiest pyjamas and slipper socks. I turn off the big light, instead switching on the warm light of the gaudy lamp in the corner that I was desperate to buy. It was the first thing we bought together for the home we planned on buying but never did. He hated it so much, said it was the ugliest thing he'd ever seen. He let me buy it anyway because I loved it so much.
I sit in the comfy chair with a candle lit and, finally, after more than eight years, I let my finger rip the top of the envelope and gently pull out the letter.
***
Taking a deep breath and another sip of wine, I unfold the pages and feel the tears sting as the familiar, messy handwriting is revealed
‘It's just a letter,’ I tell myself. Just. A. Letter.
My dearest Maggie,
If you're reading this, I'm so sorry.
I hope we've had a long and happy life, maybe have a few kids. Grandkids, too, if it's not asking for too much.
But, if not, if we didn't get that chance, I hope the time we had together was filled with love and happiness. I hope we got to make amazing memories that you treasure and I really hope you got rid of that hideous lamp.
I laugh out loud as I look fondly at my lamp.
I hope that made you smile. I know you loved that thing when we bought it so I imagine it's still stood proud in the corner of our living room for all to see.
It's no secret that I've loved you since the day I was born. There was never a time when I didn't want to marry you or to spend my life with you so know I have no regrets in life and that everything is just how it was supposed to be.
If I were to die tomorrow (hopefully not, it would make a shit wedding), I sincerely hope you find happiness again and that you would live your life to the absolute fullest. Most of all, I hope that you will find the strength to love again and to grow your family because you deserve to be loved. Someone out there, maybe someone closer than you realise, deserves to be loved by you.
Speaking from experience, your love is the greatest gift you could ever give a person so, please, don't be afraid to love again.
I'll love you always,
Philip x x x
As I trace his name with my finger, the tears flow thick and fast. I read it repeatedly until the words are burned in my mind. Deep down, I knew what they would say. That’s the kind of person Philip was: Selfless. Maybe I didn't want to accept that before because I didn't believe I deserved a second chance at love after having a love like him. I didn't think it was possible until Jake flipped everything on its side and showed me a new perspective.
All Philip wanted was for me to be happy. Did he know that I would eventually find my way back to Jake? James said he knew everything.
‘Because you deserve to be loved and someone out there, maybe someone closer than you realise, deserves to be loved by you.’
I was happy. So, so happy.
At least until three days ago when I pushed away the one person I wanted to hold close, the person who I can't imagine living without. I know one thing for certain: I need to get my shit together and deal with this once and for all.
A fresh batch of tears fall when I think about Jake and the mess I've made until I eventually cry myself to sleep in the chair.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
"I was surprised to hear from you so soon after our last session, Maggie. It's only been seven weeks."
"I know I'm not usually forthcoming with you. I know I'm usually hard work and I am terribly sorry for that. Something has changed and I don't want to ruin it more than I already have." I pause as I notice my fingers tapping and they don't stop, no matter how hard I try.
Carol has been my therapist since the accident. At first, she would visit me in the hospital once a week while I was completing my rehabilitation. She would say it's recommended because recovery can be slow and this can affect people mentally but I don't think it was that. I think she came because I refused to speak to anyone but James for an entire week and they thought I was having a psychotic episode or something. I wasn't, I just didn't have anything to say to anyone else.
James told me what the grown-ups were saying. He'd listen in on their conversations for me because we both knew they wouldn't be honest with us. They still thought of us as kids even though we were in our twenties. Now, I know they were only trying to protect us but, when they started talking about sectioning me, I decided then was my time to speak again, as much as I didn't want to.
Eventually, I opened up, little by little. I researched trauma and grief online a lot. I knew exactly what to say to the questions she asked, I said exactly what they wanted to hear. My sessions dropped to once a month at home and then, eventually, a phone call once a year on the anniversary of Philip's death.
I don't know if anyone realised what I was doing. I didn't care as long as they thought I was doing okay.
I wasn't. I was good at hiding everything and I eventually convinced myself that the way I was living was normal.
It wasn't.
I've never been here before, in Carol's office. It reminds me of a day spa, all grey and white with fluffy cushions and plush carpets. Sounds of soothing wind instruments and breaking waves and calming, lavender diffusers are pumped into every room. It's a very welcoming experience. It feels like you're in a giant hug as soon as you walk through the door and even the reception area has the most comfortable chair you've ever sat on. I had to laugh at the cheesy positive affirmations covering the hallways. I suppose, to the less cynical, it might be a nice reminder that your life will not always be so shit.
Every time I engage in a conversation with Carol, I have a plan of what I will say with bullet points and lists to keep me on track. I always set a new goal, small enough that I can achieve it, big enough that it keeps her off my back for another year. This last year, it was to stop wearing my wedding rings. The year before, it was to go to the pub with my friends once a week.
Today is different. I called the meeting without really knowing why. Did I expect to find answers here? Am I looking for validation of the choice I know I have already made deep down?
Carol watches me through narrowed eyes as she pours me a chamomile tea, psychoanalysing me.
I feel terrible about how I've behaved to her over the years. I can't imagine I'm her favourite patient or anywhere close to that, really. I feel terrible about the money Mum and Dad have wasted on our yearly conversation that I give my bare minimum to. Maybe, if I'd at least tried to talk to her and deal with my issues, I wouldn't be in this mess now.
"Is that new?" she asks me, referring to my tapping.
"No," I move my hands to my lap, clutching them together tightly and desperately willing them to stop. "It's been a while since the last time it happened and, even then, it was infrequent. It's become a problem again this week. I try to pass it off as if I'm tapping out a beat or a song to try and hide it. I do it when I'm anxious. Right before a big meeting, before a party with lots of people or a time where I'm not fully prepared for something."
"And this is a time where you are unprepared?"
"Yes."
"Well, I am eager to see what you have to say when you are unscripted. Are you aware when you do it?"
"For the most part, yes."
"And you can stop it?"
"For the most part, yes."
"Tell me, what's changed since we last spoke?"
I know what she's doing. She's using the TED method we use when we're conducting market research. Tell me, explain t
o me, describe to me. It's a fantastic way to start a discussion, to get people to open up and give more than a yes or no answer like I have been known to do.
It's effective, too. Even though I know what she's doing, I want to open up to her, to spill every minor thought I've ever had. So I do just that.
"I took over my dad’s company with Jake... he's my... let’s just say it's complicated." I don't even know where to begin with Jake.
"Explain as best you can."
"We have a complex relationship. We were best friends growing up. He fell in love with me fourteen years ago and kept it a secret. I found out at the weekend."
"You say you were friends? Does that mean you're not anymore?"
"Not exactly. It's complicated."
"So you say. I'll try my best to keep up."
I think for a moment and start at the beginning.
"He went away for uni and he stopped being friends with me. It hurt, a lot. For years, I thought he didn't care enough about me to stay friends with me. I kept trying to get him to talk to me and I was persistent, no matter how much it hurt. That was until the accident, anyway. Before that night, I had tried so hard to get him to speak to me but he was always so cold and dismissive so I eventually gave up when I felt I had bigger problems than Jake Mills to deal with.
“My husband had died. I told myself I could care less about the boy that abandoned sixteen years of friendship in less than a millisecond. Over time, he warmed up again but, for me, it was too little too late so I did to him what he did to me: I shut him out. That was when I was twenty-two. I tolerated him no more than I had to at work.
“Then, seven weeks ago, we started working closer together. We had to share an office and we became friends again, best friends. It was like no time had passed, like we had always been this way."
"And you say he came clean about his feelings at the weekend. You've told me how you felt about Jake in the past but how do you feel about him now?"
