Barefoot

by Daisy Burton

  *****

  The girls came to see her the next day, their eyes swollen and red. She made them both a luxury hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows, and cradled Blue as she sobbed. Alex was withdrawn and looked desperately sad, but rejected any attempts to hug her and kept her tears and grief locked away. That’s how she was, and how she’d always been, so Sal didn’t push her. She knew she would cry in private and whatever worked for both of them was okay with her.

  They talked about Marsh a little, and Alex noodled on his guitar, but they didn’t stay long and couldn’t face listening to the band’s CDs that day. Sal’s heart broke for them losing their dad so early in their lives. She promised them she’d always be around for them if they needed her, wherever she was and whatever she was doing.

  She meant it, too.

  In the first couple of days, Sal flip-flopped from sitting in a daze, to trying to shake herself down and make calls to his family. To make decisions - big decisions about the funeral, for whenever Marsh’s body was released. Decisions she didn’t want to have to make – ones she wasn’t equipped or able to make. In the end, she just couldn’t do it. Not yet.

  Lawrence was confused by all the emotion he was sensing and he followed Sal everywhere. Despite his beloved Mel being there, he hardly left Sal’s side, and the minute she sat down he jumped on her lap, purring loudly. She needed his affection to help her through this.

  Sal started beating herself up almost as soon as she left the hospital. Why had she not accepted his proposal? Why had she spent those last days away from him, at Jess’s? Why hadn’t she used that time to tell him she loved him - that she had forgiven him? Why had she gone to Mel’s that precious last morning when she could have snuggled up with him? Why? Stupid, stupid girl.

  Apparently, Kate had been giving Mel cooking lessons – only the basics, but enough that she could put some simple but hearty meals together. Once Mel had stopped crying and had a good night’s sleep, she seemed a little more together. She spent a lot of time trying to tempt Sal to eat, offering to prepare her sister’s favourite meals, but nothing worked. Sal nibbled on crisps occasionally for the first two days, eventually succumbing, under extreme pressure, to a small bowl of spaghetti hoops.

  Left to her own devices, she would have wasted away; food was the last thing on her mind. Mel didn’t talk much, and didn’t seem to want to talk about Marsh at all, but she made herself useful by immersing herself in cooking and cleaning.

  Still, Sal fought with her anger. She loved him so much, it flooded her at times when she wasn’t expecting it to, but it was mixed with pain, sadness and fury. It felt as if she loved him so much, she hated him. The pain was unbearable.

  When she wasn’t feeling hurt and angry, the guilt rose up again. She felt guilty for being angry, guilty for not accepting his proposal, guilty for hauling him over such coals for the phone call, guilty for not talking to him when they got back from Colorado. The anger and guilt fought for supremacy in her mind all day, and worse, all night.

  When it all got too much, she’d scream furiously into a cushion, usually when the music was cranked up, and that was incredibly therapeutic. She couldn’t do it easily when anyone was there, and she found herself wanting to be alone more every day.

  *****

  After three days, Sal sent Mel home to be with Kate. She was finding her sister pretty impossible to be around, though she was sure it was her own lack of tolerance that was to blame, rather than anything Mel had done. She wanted to cry, to be snotty, to wail her heart out, to let out the agony, and not have to be Big Sis. She wanted to be alone with her Fluffball.

  Mel had done some food shopping and reminded Sal that she was only a call away. Sal managed to persuade her sister that she would eat more than spaghetti hoops.

  In the event, Jess came ‘round every day to check on her, when she wasn’t rearranging gigs. She’d cancelled the first three German gigs because the rest of the band were in pieces, and to give her time to find a long-term replacement bass player. Sal had pleaded with Jess and the guys to keep the other dates in - Marsh would have wanted the show to go on; it was his mantra and everyone knew that. She told Jess she would arrange the funeral around the remaining dates, whenever his body was released following the post-mortem.

  As well as bringing the occasional home-cooked dish, Jess also ferried Sal around anywhere she needed to go. Every time they sat in the car, the radio seemed to be playing the latest Backstreet Boys single, and although it broke her heart, Sal found herself singing it all day.

  Tell me why I can’t be where you are. There’s something missing in my heart. Life goes on, as it never ends…

  It made her cry harder, but she wanted to hear and sing it – the words spoke to her. When she was at home alone, she took to playing her favourite Manics album far too loudly. Their music was the perfect thing to listen to at a time like this and she literally screamed along, shouting the lyrics angrily at the world, at any god that might be listening … and at Marsh.

  She was furious with him for dying. She blamed him for not being there with her, and for the fact that no one knew why he’d veered off the road. She was certain that he will have been rushing to the rehearsal, and was undoubtedly going too fast. He should have taken more care. They’d said he didn’t have a chance with the force of the impact and the metal post that had apparently caused his death.

  *****

  People got to hear the news fairly quickly; Sal heard that Jess had announced it on the newsgroup, so all the most devout fans knew on the day it happened. Many silently dropped flowers on her driveway to pay their respects. But much as she was touched by everyone’s genuine shock and obvious sympathy, she didn’t want flowers. She wanted her Marsh back.

  Having told the girls and rung his family members and close friends to break the news, there was little more she could do until his body was released. In the last few days, she’d faced more awful situations than she could have imagined, had more dreadful news-breaking telephone conversations than she’d expected, and cried more tears than she realised it was possible to produce.

  There was all manner of pain to come. After the post-mortem was complete, there would be an inquest into Marsh’s death but she couldn’t face that. A metaphorical dissection of his death after the real dissection. She didn’t want to know exactly how he had died. Nothing could bring him back, so she didn’t want to know any more than she already did. The Coroner’s office told her that she didn’t have to attend if she didn’t want to, and she fully intended to avoid the whole thing.

  She still hadn’t changed the bed clothes. That was going to have to wait because the duvet cover and pillowcases still smelled of him. He had been swaddled in those sheets only an hour before he died. When she had managed to sleep, fitfully, it had been because she was cuddling his pillow to her, inhaling the particles of him that must be on the bedding. She rescued his worn t-shirts from the laundry basket, and cuddled those too. Anything that smelled of him was fair game, and was carefully preserved in carrier bags when she wasn’t holding them. She wanted that scent of him to last as long as possible, such was the level of comfort it gave her.

  She spent hours breathing him in, trying to record the smell, so she could recall it, once it had finally run out. When she thought about a time when she would no longer have access to things that smelled of him, it felt like she was being ripped open from the inside. An actual, physical, wrenching pain.

  Waking up was the worst – when she slept at all. During those times, she fell into the deepest possible, dreamless sleep, but waking up gave her a brief five seconds or so of bliss, where she was totally unaware of what had happened. Where, in her mind, Marsh was snoring beside her in their bed.

  Where he wasn’t dead.

  Then came the awful, lurching punch of reality. A crescendo of aching, which started in her belly and snaked its way around the rest of her. Some days she’d cry at that point, and that usually meant she’d be crying a lot during the
day. Other days she would ride the wave of emotion and be a bit more focussed on what needed to be done, followed by a wave of guilt that she hadn’t been in pieces the whole time, followed by a bit of crying. Either way, she cried.

  On Day Four - her first day alone - there was a knock at the door. By the time she’d got herself into a fit state to answer it, there was no one there. She looked down, and saw a box from the baker’s near Mel’s place. Inside, she found three huge cinnamon doughnuts. So few people knew she loved cinnamon - it wasn’t the sort of fact that came up in conversation. It had to have been Mel or Jess. Either way, it was one of the few things that could coax her to eat and she was grateful to them. The doughnuts were warm, crispy, sugary and doughy in the middle. Perfect. She licked her sugar-and-cinnamon-coated-lips and for one solitary minute, she smiled inwardly.

  On Day Five, she remembered that she had a bag of Marsh’s belongings from the hospital, which she’d put away in the spare room in a daze on the day of the accident. It was a bittersweet feeling holding the things he’d had with him when he died. She had an urge to feel close to him, but she ended up feeling as if he was further away than ever. She eyed the mobile, broken into pieces and briefly wondered how it was shattered, if it had been in his pocket. Maybe he’d landed on it. She pushed away the image of him being thrown through the air, and the horrible thought that he might have been talking on it when he died. This is when knowing some details about how he died might have helped her.

  The Police had apparently looked at his phone, but it held no clues, so it had been included in the bag with the rest of his things. They told her that his mobile wasn’t required for them to get access to his call records.

  Among the millions of thoughts and memories spinning around in her head, she had one thought that only occurred to her on the evening of Day Five. Had anyone told Maire? Would Jess have done it discreetly? Surely not. But what if she wanted to come to his funeral? Maybe Maire had tried to call his mobile before he crashed? Sal couldn’t face the possibility of hearing her voice on his phone, so it was a blessing that it was in pieces.

  On Day Six, she decided she needed to visit the undertakers to get some information. Then when his body was finally released, it might not seem so daunting. When she left the house, there was a small group of fans huddled across the road, looking at her mournfully, but they didn’t approach her. She probably looked like death herself – she hadn’t taken much pride in her appearance and had only dragged a brush through her hair at the last minute.

  Sal had asked Blue and Alex if they wanted to be part of the organising, in case it might help them to deal with their grief. They didn’t, though and she went alone. She sat with kindly, gentle people who plied her with coffee and talked at her about coffins, eulogies, flowers, orders of service. Nothing she cared about, but she genuinely tried. She focussed and engaged with them, but she didn’t care about any of it. Marsh wouldn’t have cared either. He didn’t want a fuss, or a big, posh coffin, but a straightforward cremation and a party afterwards.

  Sal and Marsh had decided to talk about death after Sal’s mum had died and neither Sal nor Mel had a clue what she’d wanted. It had been so stressful for them trying to guess what to do, that Marsh had made sure that they had talked about what he wanted. Thank god they had. Being pragmatic, he decided it was pretty likely that he’d go first, being so much older than Sal.

  “It won’t matter, Pumpkin, I’ll be gone,” Marsh had said. “I don’t want any of that churchy business. I’d prefer a simple send-off and make sure you have a proper knees-up afterwards. There’s no point spending loads of money on a coffin or anything,” he had added. “I’d rather you used the money to pay the bills or for a lovely holiday for you and the girls.”

  She came away from the undertaker’s armed with leaflets, brochures and a check list of things that would need doing, once his body was released.

  On Day Seven, there was a knock at the door, and Sal found Kate standing on the porch, crying. Sal’s heart sank.

  “Oh my goodness! Come in, Kate. What’s happened?” Sal exclaimed and ushered her in. It was the first time she’d seen Kate since Marsh had died - she’d been conspicuous in her absence. Sal had assumed that she had been anxious not to intrude at such a difficult family time.

  Kate stepped inside, and grabbed hold of both of Sal’s hands.

  “Mel’s at the Police Station,” Kate blurted.

  “What? Why?”

  “She left me a note and left before I woke up, asking me not to go down there, but to come and tell you.”

  Sal could feel Kate was trembling, and gestured for her to sit on the sofa next to her.

  This can’t be happening. Not now. Not on top of everything.

  “Okay, try to breathe,” Sal said out loud, trying to sound soothing. “Why would she need to go there? Can you take me down? I’ll sort her out.” She started to stand up.

  “Wait…”

  “Come on, we need to get down there…” Sal was impatient and her fuse was much shorter than normal.

  “Please, Sallie. Sit down. I need to tell you something.”

  Looking at Kate’s upset face, Sal sat down on the sofa.

  “Sallie,” Kate took a deep breath and reached out for Sal’s hand. “Mel tried to tell you when she was here, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. She was on the phone to Marsh minutes before he crashed…”

  Sal froze. “Sorry, what?”

  “She was so furious with him after your visit that morning, she rang him not long after you’d left. She laid into him on the ‘phone, calling him every name she could think of. She loves you, Sallie, and I know it upset her that he had hurt you so badly. She’s convinced he had slept with Maire in the flesh.”

  Sal sat motionless, trying to process what was being said.

  “As soon as she realised he was driving, she hung up. She honestly didn’t know before. But when Jess rang to say he’d been in a terrible accident, Mel instantly felt it was her fault.”

  “Well, it bloody well was, wasn’t it!” Sal shrieked.

  So, the person she loved most in the world had effectively killed the love of her life. She’d always thought her sister’s temper would land her in serious trouble, but she’d never dreamt it would affect her this way. How could she come back from this? Pure, unadulterated, excruciating rage washed over her.

  How could she do this? Why hadn’t she said anything before now? She murdered him! Mel murdered Marsh!

  Sal looked at Kate through the tears that had welled up, and she could see a mixture of fear and horror on Kate’s face. Although Sal was feeling wretched, she realised that Kate was innocent in this and was in a terrible situation herself. Somehow, from deep inside, she regained some control and got some equilibrium back.

  “Sorry, Kate. Thank-you for coming to tell me.” Sal wiped her face with the back of her hand.

  “I had to. Mel hasn’t slept properly in a week and when she’s managed to drop off, she’s had the most dreadful nightmares. She’s woken me up shouting most nights. I understand why she had to go in, it’s been killing her.”

  “I don’t get why she didn’t say anything to me before, but that’s Mel. Act now, think later and hide what you’ve done. When she was little and got into trouble, she’d go and sit behind the shed at the bottom of the garden.”

  Saying that made Sal think.

  She’s my sister. My baby sister. She did it to protect me. She didn’t mean for him to die.

  Sal had a rush of protective love for her sister, despite what she’d seemingly done. Two vastly different emotions for one person, combining. Sal couldn’t process the two.

  She stood up and took a deep breath. “I guess we should go down to the Police station and find out what’s happening. Can you drive?”

  “Yes, of course. Are you sure you don’t mind? Thank-you. I’m so worried about her.”

  *****

  As they drove close to the Police Station, they could see Mel sitt
ing on a brick wall kicking her heels a few hundred yards from the station entrance. Sal’s heart broke. Her little sister was pink in the face, with red, swollen eyes and she looked dreadful. How had Sal not noticed how thin her sister had got recently?

  Mel’s face brightened when she realised the car that was idling on the road next to her contained her sister and her girlfriend. They bundled her into the car and by then, Sal had calmed down considerably from her initial reaction. They were relieved to hear that the Police didn’t feel there was any case for Mel to answer in his death.

  “They said that they already knew that I’d rung him before the accident,” Mel explained in the car. “But the records showed that I’d hung up a good five minutes before the crash, so they told me that I wasn’t a direct cause. They were continuing with their enquiries as to the actual cause, but that was all they’d say. Then they told me to go home. I’m so sorry, sis. Please forgive me.”

  Sal said nothing and was deep in thought as she stared out of the window. If she was honest, she wasn’t equipped to deal with such stress so soon, and she was struggling badly.

  Deep down, Sal wondered whether he would have crashed if Mel hadn’t rung him. He was a careful driver, normally, but when she wound him up, he could lose control. She reminded herself that Mel was all she had left now, and that her sister was feeling wretched and guilty enough. So, Sal fought to keep those thoughts under control and hidden away from her little sister.

  “It’s okay, Mel,” was all she could manage.

  *****

  As the days passed, Sal’s initial fury towards Marsh for leaving her in such a careless way gave way to loneliness. The realisation that he was never coming back was beginning to hit her. So many emotions ploughed in when she was least expecting them, that she had no idea how she’d be feeling from one hour to the next. Although it was starting to ease, she was still angry – with Marsh, and a little with Mel - and she felt guilty for not forgiving him. But now, on top of everything else, she was lonely too.

  Lawrence was a gem, curling up with her whenever she sat or laid down. She was grateful he was around, but he wasn’t Marsh.