by Katy Colins
‘It’s not weird. Lots of people do it after they’ve been through what you’ve been through. Something to do with grounding yourself, connecting to the earth?’ I shrugged.
‘Mel would love that theory. She’s a bit of a hippy, if you hadn’t noticed.’
I moved to sit on the floor too. It was actually quite nice.
‘I feel like I should ask how you’re doing but I guess…’ I trailed off, nibbling the edges of a biscuit and cupping falling crumbs in my other hand.
‘Good days and bad days.’ He took a slow sip of his coffee. ‘Well, I should say bad days and less bad days.’ He sighed and massaged his temples. ‘I sometimes wonder if I’ll forget her. Like, I know I’ll never forget her face – I mean, I have so many photos and all her modelling portfolios – but I wonder if I’ll forget her. What made her Abbie. Like the way she held herself. The face she pulled when she wanted me to save her from some boring fart at a party without coming across as rude. We had this silly system, she would drop in the word sunshine and I knew that was code for help, get me away from this person.’
I listened and understood what he meant. You can remember someone’s face in an instant but what made them them, a three-dimensional whole person, certainly and sadly faded with time.
‘Do you have any videos of her?’
‘Er, no, not really. There are probably ones taken on shoots but that was never my Abbie. In fact,’ he took a deep breath then carried on, slurring slightly, ‘if I’m honest I didn’t have much time for that Abbie. The one I miss, and worry I’ll lose again and again, is the one who wore Christmassy pyjama-bottoms in June. Who would scrape her hair back into this ridiculous-looking pile on her head as she took her make-up off, and picked at her nail polish absentmindedly as she watched TV.’ I couldn’t imagine his polished wife ever acting so… well, so normal. ‘It’s like I want to ration these memories in case if I overthink them, they’ll disappear.’
‘Savouring the memory of things which will never happen again…’
‘Exactly! It’s like you look at people out and about living their lives, doing really mundane things without realising that these mundane fucking things are what make up life. I’d give anything to bicker over whose turn it was to empty the dishwasher, or to order her favourite coffee in Starbucks, or to hear her heels clacking over the floor in the hall. Stupid stuff like that.’
He sighed.
‘I keep thinking about things I never told her. Pointless tiny things that now have nowhere to go. She used to say I had a useless memory, but since she’s gone it’s like the deposit box of our joint memories has been passed over to me to look after, and all these new details have been rushing back. Like the time we went to Rome and she picked off all the olives on her pizza and the waiter took offence that she was ruining the best part of the dish. It suddenly came to me that the waiter’s name was Carlos.’ He shook his head at the absurdity of the tiny things our brains hold onto. ‘If you’d have asked me that two months ago I’d never have been able to tell you. Stupid isn’t it?’ His eyes were glassy with unshed tears.
‘Not stupid,’ I said with a sad smile. ‘I’ve learnt that you can’t fix people like you can fix objects. There isn’t enough sticky tape in the world to mend us.’
‘It would be awesome if you could. Honestly, Grace, it’s just exhausting feeling like this day in, day out. It’s like every day is a battle. Small bullets that come at you from out of nowhere. I still get post arriving for her, her name is still in my recent call list, the book she was reading and didn’t finish is still lying by the side of the bath…’
Pain lurked in the most innocent of places. It was one of the reasons why I moved to Ryebrook.
‘And the inquest date still hasn’t been set. Apparently they’re looking for witnesses or something. I don’t know why. It’s not like it’s going to change anything.’
‘From what you’ve told me there’s no one to blame but it might give you some sort of closure though?’
‘No one to blame? Hah,’ he repeated and shook his head. ‘I wish that was true.’
‘Oh sorry – I thought Mel said it was an accident?’ I felt a wave of heat rush to my cheeks.
‘Yeah – I mean, it was an accident. But that doesn’t mean someone’s not to blame…’
‘I don’t understand?’
He sighed deeply and rubbed at his face. ‘I just feel like it was my fault.’
‘But –’
‘We had a big fight, a stupid argument, the night Abbie died. She stormed off and never came back.’ His voice was breaking but he loudly cleared his throat, refusing to look me in the eyes. ‘If we hadn’t fought then she wouldn’t have been on the road at that time. She would still be here.’
I didn’t know what to say. Silence settled around us.
‘I just wish I’d tried harder, been a better husband, you know.’ He blinked his large, watery eyes.
I couldn’t tell him that from what I’d seen online their marriage seemed to be pretty perfect. One many would envy, in fact.
He let out a deep sigh. ‘It’s just… I don’t know. I keep thinking back to times when I should have been there for her more. I had a habit of putting work first.’
‘I’m sure that wasn’t the case.’
‘I’d always been focussed on my career. I was the one who brought in the main bulk of our income, after all. I’m not sure if I ever told you, I’m an architect. But now I just think how pointless it all was. How I would give anything to spend one less day working away, and be with her instead.’
From Abbie’s Facebook feed, her pouting perfect photo graphs, you would never have guessed that what was going on behind closed doors was anything less than a perfect, happy marriage. I could feel my tongue yearning to ask more questions but I bit my lip. Relationships are like a house with no windows: you could only guess at what was going on inside. I expected Callum to change the subject or even leave, but he leant his head back and swallowed deeply.
‘I don’t think I ever said thanks for your help with the funeral. And, well, now this,’ he raised his bandaged hand.
‘You’re welcome, for both things.’ I paused. ‘I’m not sure if you picked up my answerphone messages? We have her ashes ready for when you want to collect them.’ I added quickly, ‘There’s no rush. You can take your time.’
‘Oh.’ His mouth tightened. ‘I haven’t even thought about what I’m going to do with them. I mean, with her.’
‘That’s normal, like I said there’s no rush.’
He’d already survived this long without his wife. A huge achievement, although he could still kid himself that she was taking an extended holiday. Lots of people did. But it had been over a month since the funeral, and the realisation that she wasn’t coming back was bound to settle in soon. Then the real test of being alone would begin.
‘What do other people do?’
‘Well, they usually like to take them home, store them on the mantelpiece or in a display cabinet.’ He winced. ‘Or in a wardrobe, safe out of harm’s way. Then when you feel able, you can take them and scatter them at a place she liked.’
‘Er, right… I guess.’
‘But, you know, some people use the ashes and turn them into fireworks or even make them into diamonds, there are no rules.’ I tried to laugh lightly but it sounded shrill in the sudden silence. ‘If you like I can bring them to you? Save you making the trip to the office?’
‘Really? Are you sure? I mean, yeah, that would be helpful…’
‘Course, not a problem,’ I said a little too brightly.
He got up to use the bathroom, leaving me to mentally punch myself in the face for making such a ridiculous offer. We didn’t do an ashes home delivery service. Families were asked to come to us and sign their loved ones out before leaving our care, in case anything happened to them. What I had just offered was against company policy, and I could get into trouble.
I heard the toilet flush. I’d said it; this foolish
offer was out in the world. Frank didn’t need to know. I was just going to have to be very careful.
Chapter 18
I was woken by the buzzing of an alarm. The incessant sound forced me to open my eyes. Strangely, I couldn’t remember setting one last night. I’d slept sounder than I had for a very long time. I rubbed my face, trying to shift the grubby, deep-sleep feeling, catching sight of my discarded clothes tossed to the floor. I frowned. I never left my clothes like that. The alarm was still going off but it wasn’t coming from my alarm clock. I pulled the cover around me, half asleep and puzzled at what was going on. It was only when I spotted a crumpled flyer lying on the floor that I remembered.
Callum was in my house! He’d fallen asleep when I’d gone to the toilet, and I didn’t have the heart to wake him. I knew how precious sleep was when it came. The buzzing must have been coming from his phone alarm.
I leapt out of bed faster than my sleepy brain was ready for, and grabbed my dressing gown from the back of the door. How had I even managed to sleep, let alone gone into such a deep state, when there was a man in my house? I hurried to the lounge, preparing to see him snoozing where I’d left him at whatever small hour of the morning.
The stale smell hit me first. The curtains were still drawn but the room was empty. I then realised that the buzzing wasn’t an alarm but the doorbell, being intermittently pressed. It had been so long since I’d heard it that I’d forgotten how it sounded. I looked around the room. The cushions which had been used as a makeshift pillow were plumped up and back in their place at either end of the sofa. I glanced into the kitchen, clocking our dirty mugs waiting near the sink – there was something uncomfortably intimate about the sight. I checked the bathroom but he was nowhere to be seen. I tried to ignore my heart sinking at his absence and rushed down the stairs to open the door. I wondered if he’d show up at the church hall on Friday, if that was when I’d see him next, or perhaps this was him now and he had forgotten something. I was just about to open the door when it came back to me what I’d offered. To hand deliver Abbie’s ashes. What had I been thinking?
I took a deep lungful of breath. But it wasn’t Callum at my doorstep.
‘There you are!’ Mum sang loudly, stepping inside my flat, pulling me into a hug.
My nose filled with her scent of patchouli and rose oil, the same heady smell she’d worn all her life.
‘Gracie?’ Mum stepped back and peered at me. ‘I love the new hair!’
I flashed a weak smile. I would worry about Callum and what I’d offered later.
‘I wasn’t expecting you.’ I tried to move my cheeks from under her vice grip.
‘Let me look at you. I swear you’re getting thinner every time I see you.’ She tutted, finally letting go.
‘Mum, what are you doing here?’ An old woman pulling a tartan shopping caddy stared back as she trundled past. ‘Brendan not with you?’
‘He’s long gone.’ She wafted a hand before clomping up the stairs.
‘Gone?’ Another one bites the dust.
I rubbed my eyes and tried to wake up.
‘Grace!’ Mum gasped from upstairs.
‘What?’
‘What’s going on in here? It’s like a bloody morgue.’ She was pulling open the curtains and shaking her head. ‘Is everything OK, love?’
‘Yep, fine.’ I cast my eyes around the room in case there was any Callum debris left behind. All clear. ‘So.’ I cleared the sleep from my throat. ‘What’s this spontaneous visit for?’
‘Can’t a mother want to spend time with her daughter without the Spanish Inquisition? Anyway, it looks like you could do with a bit of company. I’ve never seen it so messy in here.’
I wondered if she could smell the very faint scent of whisky and aftershave.
‘I was just about to start –’
‘Well, forget about that, I want to take you out.’
‘Out?’
‘Yes. I thought we could head over to the Stables and grab a coffee together. You jump in the shower and I’ll make a start on your dishes. I don’t know why you use so many cups.’
We’d never been the type of people to ‘go and grab a coffee’.
‘I’m alright, thanks. I’ve got coffee here.’
She shook her head. ‘Nope. Come on, you clearly need cheering up. Something’s going on. And I need to pick up some bits from the herbal healing shop. My sciatica is playing up again. Let’s go, you can tell me all on the way.’
She wasn’t taking no for an answer.
*
Mum made me drive since Brendan wasn’t around to chauffeur her about. She acted sheepish when I asked why they’d split up, instead insisting on telling me about this new hobby she’d started, a Japanese cooking class or something. She’d clearly taken a shine to one of the teachers there.
I’d never been to The Stables Studios before, but had read about the events, mostly aimed at families, which were held there. It was a collection of workshops and studios for creative types, under one leaky roof. I’d been following Mum’s directions, silently grumbling that she didn’t know her left from her right.
‘Grace, I meant left!’
‘Then why didn’t you point with your left hand!’
‘Oh, it’s fine, just turn around up here. I don’t know why you drive like such an old lady. You don’t need to be so blooming cautious all the time.’
I ignored what she was saying as my attention was caught by bunches of wilted flowers in cellophane, taped to a thick tree trunk. I hadn’t realised where I was until now. The road I was driving down was where Abbie had died. I felt my throat tighten. Knotted strands of blue and white police tape flickered in the wind, tangled up in hawthorn bushes. Shivers raced up my spine. I gripped the steering wheel tighter. These trees were the last thing Abbie saw. I wondered what she had been listening to on the radio. If she’d known what was happening before it was too late? If she’d struggled to comprehend that these were her final moments, or if the speed at which it happened, stole any rational thoughts.
Callum’s admission that he felt responsible for Abbie’s tragic death sprang to the front of my mind. Casting my eyes around the remote lane did make me think just what a strange place it was for Abbie to find herself, alone, in the early hours of the morning. Why would a row with your husband make you head here? The newspaper report had said that the accident had happened between one and three a.m. But Callum said they’d rowed in the evening before she’d gone out. So, why had she been here at that time in the morning?
‘Oh, this is it. Turn right here!’ Mum made me jump, thrusting her hand in my face.
I slowed down and flicked on my indicator even though I was the only car on this stretch of road. The turning was a single track down a bumpy, pot-holed road. Gnarled trees on the other side blocked out much of the bright sunlight.
‘I think I may have sent us down the back route… Anyway, so next week we’re learning all about how to make teriyaki steak and wasabi mash. You’ll have to come along, it’s such a laugh…’
I continued to trundle down the bumpy lane, hoping no other cars were coming in my direction, nodding at Mum’s story when I needed to. The tight passing places were few and far between and I didn’t fancy reversing back up the narrow path.
‘Ah, here we are!’ she sang as I pulled into the half-empty car park.
Car park was an exaggerated term, looking at the boggy field. I locked my car and let her link arms with me as we followed painted wooden arrows on stakes in the ground, pointing to the main entrance. A cobbled courtyard spread out in front of us. Smaller ‘stables’ had been converted into tiny shops as part of the town’s ‘creative quarter’. The path led to the main barn that used to be the centre of a working farm, but was now a retro tearoom.
‘I’ll just go and get the bits I need. Want to meet me here in twenty minutes or so?’ Mum said, hurrying off with a wave.
I reluctantly nodded and wandered down the lane past a vegan juice bar and th
e crystal healing shop that she’d popped into. I really wasn’t in the mood for this. I plodded past ‘Grandad’s Clobber’, a vintage clothes store, and a man upcycling old plant pots at ‘Bill and Ben’s’. There was a small jewellery shop, ‘Jodi’s Flowers’, which sold pressed flowers in pieces of plastic to make garish necklaces and bracelets. I knew I was acting like a petulant teenager. And it was nice of Mum to want to do something together, and good to get out of my little flat and into the fresh air. It was warm out, the trees flush and green with fresh leaves. I’d clearly just got out of bed on the wrong side. I absentmindedly kept walking to the last studio, preparing to head back to the coffee shop to sit and wait for Mum with a weak tea, when I stopped in my tracks. In the window was a large sign:
‘Daniel Sterling, artisan creator and designer of one-off pieces that your home is missing.’
Daniel, the guy who’d nervously been stuffing sausage rolls into his mouth at Abbie’s wake. The guy who I may have had more than one thought about. The guy who was now waving at me through the window. Oh god. I waved back before I realised what I was doing. There was no way I could just hurry back to meet Mum now.
The door to his studio opened and out wafted the dulcet sounds of a female blues singer. The smell of white spirit, from a dirty rag he was rubbing his hands on, filled my nose.
‘Hey, Grace, right?! How are you? Doing a bit of shopping are we?’ He was so much more at ease than the last time we’d met. His sleeves were rolled up and he had paint flecked on his forearms and across the baggy, striped shirt he was wearing. His warm brown eyes creased into a smile.
‘Er, yeah. Something like that…’ I stuttered. ‘I didn’t realise you worked here?’
‘Yep, this is where the magic happens.’ He glanced back at the room with a wink. ‘I’m just finishing off. Will you come in for a drink? I’ve got a kettle and can even rustle up two clean mugs.’ He held the door open wider.
I took one last look behind me.
‘Are you sure? I really don’t want to keep you…’ I couldn’t finish the rest of my sentence as a stunning sculpture caught my eye as I stepped into the warm room. It literally took my breath away. ‘Wow. You made this?’