by Gwyn G B
As they rattled along in the black taxi cab, Charlie came up trumps again.
‘Just so you don’t have to be given round after round of condolences, why don’t we just say that I was a friend of your ex-husband and let them assume you’re simply divorced. Would that be easier?’
‘Yes I think so, thank you,’ and she looked down at her dress cuffs which seemed to sigh in relief.
They were just in time for a quick glass of Champagne before being ushered into the dining room. This was familiar territory for Alison. Phil and Charlie had worked for the same surveyor’s firm a few years back and although a room full of surveyors and their wives wasn’t overly exciting, at least it was familiar and not too daunting. They were sat at top table and Alison quickly realised that they were in the middle of a political battle scene. At one end of the table was the youngish wife of the Vice Chairman of the company, who could have stepped off the streets of Soho. She had a large sun-bed orange chest oozing out of a red sequinned boob tube affair. The sad thing was that although she looked fairly young and attractive underneath the thick make-up and peroxide, she ruined it all with the trappings and by trying to wear clothes which were better suited to a teenager. Alison couldn’t help but notice the flapping upper arms as she cut her steak, or the rolls of stomach undulating nicely beneath her tight leather skirt.
At the opposite end of the table was the Chairman’s wife who was probably only a few years older in reality, but looked like she’d probably been forty-five going on fifty most of her life. She wore a garish yellow pleated tent thing topped by a head of tight little curls and bright green eyeshadow. It was obvious that the two women despised each other and although the whole scene kept Alison amused, she thought the best option would be to get quietly drunk.
The food was good and there was only one cuff fumble throughout. Charlie’s boss and keeper of the creature in yellow, had asked the inevitable question and then followed it up with who was her ex and did he work in the industry? That hadn’t been in the plan and Alison had been forced to tell him after which he looked decidedly awkward.
‘I’m so sorry Mrs Swift. I had the pleasure of working with your husband several times. He is sorely missed by many.’
Alison had been unable to swallow the peas in her mouth for about half a minute and had to resort to washing them down with almost a whole glass of wine. On his part he’d had enough sensitivity to drop the subject and started talking about his daughter and her new pony. Alison quickly recovered her composure helped by images of Thelwell and the yellow tented one in half pint size.
By the time dancing started she was decidedly tipsy, although not quite as tipsy as Mrs Sunbed boobs who nearly fell over twice in her stilettos and had to be taken off for some coffee by her somewhat embarrassed husband. Alison, it has to be said, did a bit of swaying herself, but she was more in control and managed twenty minutes worth before Charlie begged for a breather. They stayed for another hour and then Charlie, mindful of the babysitter and the fact this was Alison’s first outing in months, called a cab home.
On the way back she’d rested her head on his shoulder, half drunk and half asleep. When the taxi pulled up outside the house she invited him in for a coffee, he hesitated.
‘I don’t know, I’ve had quite a few to drink.’
‘Oh don’t be silly, the spare room is all made up and besides I’ve got to tell you about the house and I’m too excited to sleep.’ Although still slightly reluctant he’d agreed and after Mrs Leathe had gone, the pair of them settled down in the sitting room with a big pot of coffee and some mellow music.
‘You still miss him a lot don’t you?’ Charlie asked.
Alison nodded into her cup.
‘We all do you know,’ he added, ‘but at some point you’ve got to let go. He wouldn’t want you to be unhappy.’
‘I know Charlie, I’m getting there. I haven’t even told you my news yet.’
‘News?’
‘About the house.’
‘Yes, the house,’ he immediately looked slightly annoyed at the mention of it, but Alison didn’t notice.
‘I’ve made an offer, it’s perfect.’
‘You mean you’re serious about moving?’
‘Of course I am, don’t you see this is just what we need. A new home, a fresh start.’ There was silence. Alison looked up at him for encouragement but now his head was bowed into his coffee. ‘I thought you’d be pleased for me.’
Charlie still didn’t answer, but got up and walked to the curtained window, his back facing her.
‘Alison, this is all going to sound so cliched…’
‘Don’t start lecturing me on the house, don’t worry I’m getting it surveyed, I’ve…’
‘Alison listen to me please, this is hard enough as it is.’
She stopped open mouthed, stunned at his intensity.
‘I didn’t want us to have to talk about this yet, I didn’t think you were ready. I didn’t think it would be fair, but I owe it to myself to say something.’
He paused again, she was holding her breath now with absolutely no idea of what he was about to say.
‘I love you Alison. It didn’t start out like that, but somewhere along the line it’s happened. I cared about Phil immensely, you know that, and while he was alive it never once entered my head. But since I’ve been helping take care of you and Sophie something has grown. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you disappearing off to Dorset and me never seeing you again. I’d like to know how you feel too. If it’s out of the question then fine, no problem. I’ll accept that, but if there’s a possibility and you just need time then I’ll wait. I just can’t stand seeing you both simply walk out of my life.’
Silence. The tirade of words and emotion had taken them both by surprise.
Charlie remained facing the curtains for what seemed like forever while Alison sat in stunned confusion. She’d been far to wrapped up in herself and Sophie to notice anything other than the supportive friendship which had first been offered to her. Just as she felt she was beginning to pull herself together he dropped this bombshell and blew her emotional composure apart again. Charlie turned just as the confusion reached her face.
‘Alison, I’m so sorry, you don’t need this right now. I shouldn’t have come in, I’ve been drinking.’ He rushed to where she sat on the floor and was about to take her in his arms like he always did, when he noticed her body language and redirected himself to the sofa.
‘No it’s OK Charlie, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ve been too selfish and wrapped up in myself to notice what’s been going on around me.’ She cradled her coffee mug, stroking its warm sides for support and comfort. ‘I care about you a lot Charlie, I really do. I’m just not sure in what way. I need to sort myself and my life out first and this move is all part of that process. I know I have to get on with my life without Phil, but some things are just too soon.’
‘OK I’ll back off.’
‘Please don’t be hurt, don’t stop seeing us, we need you. Just give me time that’s all.’
Charlie nodded and put down his coffee mug.
‘Thank you, I’m sorry Alison, I won’t pressure you I promise. I wish you luck with the house of course I do, if that’s what you want. I’d just better get used to driving between London and Dorset I guess.’
4
In Dorset a small white hand places a woman’s driving glove in the centre of a make-shift altar in her bedroom. After lighting two black candles she carefully positions some sheep’s horns over the centre of the glove and begins chanting:
‘King of Heaven, King of Hell,
Send your aid unto this spell,
Horned hunter of the night,
Work my will by magic rite.’
Head bowed the small figure prays. The room is sparse, no teenage paraphernalia on the walls. The only ornament is a black pentacle hanging above her bed. The only books are, ‘The Book of Shadows’, and the school textbooks dumped on the floor by the
door. The house is silent, light comes only from the candles and the moon straining through the clouds into the un-curtained window.
A small noise outside makes her jump. In two seconds she is on her feet, heart pounding and eyes scanning the room. Almost at once she notices it’s just a tree branch scratching against the window pane. Realising that her fear is a betrayal of the one she worships, her tiny shaky voice begins reciting their Lord’s prayer fervently as she drops back onto her knees.
‘Our Father who art in Hell
Evil be they name…’
5
‘Mr Harding, it’s Alison Swift… I was just calling to let you know that I’ve received the survey and yes, everything’s fine so my solicitor knows to exchange and complete as soon as possible… We should be seeing you soon then. Yes, I will. You too. Thanks for the help, goodbye.’
As soon as she put the phone down, Alison caught Phil’s eye smiling at her from the photograph on the mantelpiece.
‘Oh darling,’ she said, as she walked over and cradled the picture to her, ‘we’re not leaving you, just the bad memories. You’ll be coming with us.’ Then impatient for her new life she starts to organise some boxes to pack her old one into.
Three weeks later their London home had become merely a brick shell. All their belongings were packed, Oxfam had done well, and the bin men would have their work cut out next time they collected. The worst part for Alison had been emptying Phil’s wardrobe. His jackets still clung onto his scent and she found the odd hair on a shoulder, or scribbled note in a pocket. She’d sat staring at the pile of clothes for hours agonising over what to do with it all. Some of them would fit Charlie, but she couldn’t bear to see somebody else wear Phil’s clothes and besides, she’d feel like she really was betraying her husband. Since their talk a few weeks ago, she’d found herself drifting closer to him, encouraged by her friend, Debbie.
‘Look what have you got to lose?’ she’d squealed down the phone, ‘I think having him around is a big help to you, it’s hard being a single mum and quite honestly Alison, I think you could do without another man leaving your life right now.’
‘But it’s Phil, Deb, I feel as though I’m being unfaithful to him. I should still be in mourning for him not thinking about having a relationship with one of his friends. I feel like he’s watching, getting upset.’
‘Bullshit. If Phil is watching, do you know what he’d be thinking? He’d say thank God Alison and Sophie have Charlie to take care of them. Just go with it Ali, at least until you’re back to strength and able to make fully rational decisions again.’
‘Yeah, maybe you’re right, I do care for him a lot.’
‘Exactly and if you finish it now you’ll not only hurt him, but deny yourself the chance of something that could be good for all of you.’
When Debbie had put the phone down to her friend, she sighed. She hoped she’d encouraged her to do the right thing, but she was fairly sure Charlie is a really good guy. She’d much rather he stick around to keep an eye on Alison, than her be all on her own. She flicked the computer mouse and got back to writing her script. It was needed for the one o’clock news bulletin and she hadn’t even got past the first paragraph.
The more Alison thought about Charlie, the more it felt right. She just hadn’t realised the depth of her feelings before. After Phil had gone she’d shut her mind to the possibility of ever finding happiness with a man again, in one sense she’d not even wanted to. The pain of losing Phil had been tremendous, she didn’t want to put herself in that position again. If she didn’t have anybody then she couldn’t lose them, that was easy. What she hadn’t counted on were her feelings for Charlie creeping up on her under the disguise of friendship, only to now start showing their true colours. There was no doubt about it, she cared for him a lot and even the thought of him made her feel warm inside. Leaving Charlie had been the one downside in their move to Dorset, but she still went ahead believing that putting a little distance between them would give her the time to heal and sort out her emotions. After all, it’s only a couple of hours away, not the other side of the world.
Alison finished talking to Debbie and returned to Phil’s pile of clothes. She decided that he’d want somebody to get some use from them and so she just hung onto his favourite jumpers for herself and Sophie and gave the rest to Oxfam. His other personal belongings, she shared out amongst those who had loved him. Sophie got his watch, some books and his favourite baseball cap, his mother his shaving kit, some photos and some cufflinks, while the prized set of golf clubs he had so adored, went off to Scotland and his brother.
Giving out the things he’d cherished was the last stage of her grief management process. It was a final statement admitting that he’d gone and wasn’t coming back. The really personal items such as diaries and the cards and letters they’d sent to each other, were all carefully stored in a box ready for Sophie to read when she was older and for Alison to look at on dark, lonely evenings.
Sophie coped quite well with the idea of moving house. There had been just one nightmare when she woke up in the middle of the night, crying and saying that daddy wouldn’t know where to come home to if they moved house. So far though, the bad dream hadn’t returned, indeed she seemed to be getting better all round. She’d started to play families again with her dolls and seemed happy at the prospect of making some new friends. She had often talked about Martha’s cats since their visit and Alison was considering the idea of getting her a pet of her own once they’d settled in. One thing Alison had also started taking more notice of was how she reacted around Charlie. The prognosis was good, she seemed calmer and more confident somehow and she certainly liked him a lot. His visits would always be heralded by the cry of ‘Charlie, Charlie..’ from her daughter’s mouth.
So it all came to be agreed that Charlie would take a week off work to help them move. Alison was a bit nervous about having him around for so long, especially sleeping under the same roof, but she desperately wanted to share her enthusiasm and excitement for the house with somebody and right now Charlie was the closest somebody she had.
D.Day arrived unobtrusively with no outward hint of the stress involved in moving house. The birds sang, they ate breakfast and dressed, and the letters plopped through the letterbox as they did every morning. The removals company were due to arrive at nine thirty, but by nine fifty when there was no sign of them, the first stress attack of the day began. Alison phoned up the company but only got an answer phone. Visions of being left with mounds of boxes and no means of getting them to their new home, raced around her mind. Then at nine fifty-six and twenty seconds, Sophie sighted the huge van turning the corner into their road. The cavalry had arrived to transport their worldly goods down the M3, held up only by some ‘intelligent’ but probably broke motorist who’d run out of petrol in the Euston underpass blocking one of the lanes.
‘Won’t be a problem luv,’ said the chief cavalry officer surveying the house, ‘as soon as we’ve had a cuppa we’ll get it all loaded.’
‘Ah yes, cup of tea? I’ll put the kettle on then shall I?’ replied Alison.
‘Oh cheers luv, that would be great.’
He didn’t notice her sarcasm, but Alison had quickly discovered her role for the day.
She spent the morning patting boxes and following the five muscle flexing men around with her precious belongings.
‘That one’s got breakables in,’ or ‘the box might break on that one,’ were usually met with just grunts. The best response was when she said, ‘that one is really heavy,’ because invariably the testosterone took over and instead of the box being carried between two, one of them would hoist it up, jugular bulging, just to prove he could do it. Not that Alison wasn’t impressed at times when the boxes of books she’d barely been able to drag, were tossed airborne, but she didn’t show it. She couldn’t increase their egos further.
By late lunchtime they had finished and the cavalry set off for Dorset via the local greasy spoon, leaving Alis
on to say goodbye to the house. It was a strange feeling walking out of their home for the last time. This wasn’t her first big move by any means, but this was the house she and Phil had bought after their marriage, the doorstep she’d carried Sophie over for the first time after coming back from the hospital, and the garden they’d spent many sunny afternoons in as a family. There were such a lot of good memories, she was almost a little scared that she hadn’t packed them all. What made her eventually pull the front door shut, was that one memory from a rainy night seven months ago. Every time she saw the mantelpiece in the sitting room, or the wallpaper, the carpets or the curtains, it would always come back to her. She’d sold the sofa, but she wouldn’t have ever been able to change the room enough. That was one memory she’d be glad to leave behind and with the click of the closing door their new life began.
Sophie and any very precious belongings were packed into her car and then they too headed for the country. Driving through London in her BMW sports coupe, Alison got stuck behind a Bedford van in slow moving traffic. Its occupants spotted they had an attractive woman behind in an expensive car and the back window washer arm began to move to and fro as water trickled down to clean its dusty surface. She was at once reminded of an over excited puppy wagging its tail and dribbling down its back legs in welcome. Once a clear view was established, however, the two admirers spotted Sophie and the interest declined markedly. This was the first time since Phil’s death that Alison had remembered she’s an attractive woman (apart from Charlie of course) and she almost felt miffed at the drop off in interest. It was all academic though, within minutes she was on the motorway, leaving the clogged-up city to choke on its own fumes and human effluence.
The sun lit up a blue sky as they headed down the motorway and Alison felt she was finally leaving the darkness of the past few months behind. She had no concept of the dark storm clouds gathering up ahead, waiting for her and Sophie to arrive and curl their tendrils around them.