by Sara Barnard
I should say no. I should stop inflicting myself on him. He deserves so much better than me and my cold heart, how I take and take and give nothing back.
‘Yes, please,’ I say.
Graham sounds tired when he answers the phone. He tells me that the funeral is tomorrow at a church on the outskirts of Brighton. I think that maybe he’ll say something nice about Dilys and me, like maybe that Dilys had mentioned me and he was glad I’d been there over the last few months. But he doesn’t, and it occurs to me that he probably doesn’t even remember who I am.
‘Is Clarence OK?’ I ask. ‘Did you take him with you on the last visit?’
There’s a moment of silence. ‘I’m sure he’s fine,’ he says, in that patient, slightly sarcastic tone of someone who doesn’t really like or understand dogs. ‘And yes, we did, luckily.’
‘If you ever need anyone to walk him …’ I start to say, then stop. What a stupid thing to say. Graham and his family don’t even live in Brighton.
‘That’s very kind,’ Graham says. ‘But actually, Clarence isn’t going to be with us any more. We only ever intended to look after him while Dilys was unable.’
My voice comes out shrill. ‘You’re going to abandon him?’
‘No,’ he says, with more strained politeness this time. ‘We’re taking him to a rescue centre. He’ll be well looked after, and I’m sure it won’t be long until someone adopts him. Now, it was nice to speak to you—’
‘You can’t put him in a kennel,’ I interrupt. ‘He hates kennels. He gets traumatized. Didn’t Dilys tell you that?’
‘“Traumatized” is a very dramatic word,’ Graham says. I can tell he regrets telling me about this plan. ‘He’ll be fine.’
He may as well say, He’s just a dog.
‘I’ll take him,’ I say.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I’ll take him. I love him. I’ll look after him.’ There’s a long silence, so I add, ‘I used to walk him for Dilys. He knows me. And, look, if you put him in a rescue centre I’m just going to go there to get him. So you may as well cut that bit out and give him straight to me.’
‘I’m really not sure—’
‘It’s what Dilys would want.’ I feel completely confident about this. ‘She trusted me.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Why does that matter?’
‘Don’t you want to check with your parents first?’
My breath catches in my throat, but when I speak my voice is steady. ‘They aren’t involved.’
‘In what?’
‘In my life.’
‘Oh.’ He finally gets it, way too late for it not to be weird. He’s probably thinking, Oh yes, the bedsit girl. I hope he feels awkward. I hope he’s cringing, wondering how to get off the phone without making it worse. ‘Well. If this is what you want, then fine.’
‘Great. If you bring him tomorrow I’ll take him home with me.’ I glance around my bedsit. It’s small, but so is Clarence. This is the perfect solution; I should have thought of it so much earlier. Why should either of us be alone if we can have each other?
35
‘fragile’ (feat. WRENN)
gnash
On the day of Dilys’s funeral, it rains. Big, heavy sheets of it. I realize the night before that I don’t own any of what you might call traditional funeral clothes, but it’s too late to go shopping, so I end up wearing black tights under a little-on-the-short-side black dress and hope for the best.
Matt arrives dressed all in black, and it reminds me of the time I saw him play in Hastings. He looks sombre, clearly worried he might get the tone wrong, so I make a joke about umbrellas to lighten the mood.
He smiles, relaxing. ‘Nice dress.’
‘Is it too short?’
‘What is short?’ he replies ponderously, tapping his finger to his forehead. ‘Does it even exist, when not in relation to something else?’
I give his arm a gentle shove. ‘Just lie next time.’
He grins. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’
It’s such a relief to feel easy with him again.
I’d been worried, for some reason, that there wouldn’t be many people, but the church is full. I spot Graham immediately, sitting on the front pew with what must be the rest of his family. There are lots of old people, mostly women, but also lots of middle-aged people and even some younger. I wonder who they are, how they knew Dilys. I wish people wore name badges at funerals. Name badges with something like RELATIONSHIP TO THE DECEASED underneath. What would mine be? SUZANNE WATTS. USED HER WASHING MACHINE.
Even though I’ve spent the last few months getting to know Dilys, it feels like I do it all over again at her funeral. Three people give eulogies: Graham; a childhood friend called Dennis, who starts weeping; and a woman who’d been her friend since the early orchestra days. I listen to stories of young Dilys, professional Dilys, family Dilys.
All of these people loved Dilys. She mattered to all these people. To me. The version I knew was just one tiny part of her, one colour in the kaleidoscope. That could make me feel distant from her, but it doesn’t. I’m glad I got the piece I did, and I hope she was glad, too, to know this version of me, the one that only really existed for her.
After the funeral, we all end up gathered outside the crematorium. A small group of the old women I’d noticed earlier come over to me, all smiles.
‘You’re the laundry girl!’ one of them exclaims.
‘How do you know about … I mean, hi.’ I hold out my hand awkwardly and the woman who’d spoken grabs it, squeezing enthusiastically.
‘Dilys told us all about you. Very beautiful, she said. Blonde. Of course it’s you. It is you?’
I nod.
‘Of course it is. Didn’t I say it was? And who are you?’ She turns to Matt, eyeing him over her glasses. ‘Dilys didn’t mention a boy.’
‘I’m Matt,’ Matt says. He smiles his charming friend-to-old-ladies smile and I swear they practically coo at him. ‘I’m here for support.’
One of the other women gives my arm a soft pat and I look at her. ‘Dilys would be so pleased that you’re here,’ she says, quiet and simple.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
We end up staying until most people have gone, which is how long it takes for Graham to find a moment to get Clarence for me. I haven’t actually told Matt this bit, so he looks completely baffled when Graham approaches with Clarence on a lead.
‘Why’s there a dog?’ Matt asks.
I don’t reply, because Clarence has spotted me and he’s gone beserk. His whole body is wriggling, bouncing on the end of the lead. As soon as he’s close enough he leaps for me, paws scrabbling all over my coat.
‘Hi!’ I say, feeling ridiculous tears building. He’s just so happy to see me, and I’d thought he wouldn’t even remember me. ‘Hey, bud.’ I lean down to pick him up.
‘Oh, he’s quite muddy—’ Graham begins. ‘Oh, OK, you’re just going to … OK.’
I hug Clarence close to me, standing to my full height. ‘Thanks for bringing him,’ I say. The little dog is trying to burrow into my armpit. Beside Graham, two girls a few years younger than me, who I assume are his daughters, are watching with undisguised devastation.
‘Let me just go and grab his bed and food and things,’ Graham says. ‘Back in a tick.’
‘Bed and food and things?’ Matt repeats.
‘I’ll put lots of pictures of him on Instagram,’ I say to the girls. ‘Sorry that you can’t keep him. But, lots of pictures. I promise. Hashtag, Clarence Fairweather.’ One of them smiles, then tries to hide it. ‘Want to say goodbye to him?’ I shift him in my arms and move closer.
‘Goodbye to him?’ Matt’s voice has got a little louder.
It’s not until we’re back in his car, Clarence on my lap, and all of his things on the back seat, that I finally answer him. ‘So, yeah. I have a dog now. Isn’t he adorable?’
Matt looks at him, unconvinced. ‘He’s got a really grumpy face.�
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‘Don’t be harsh!’ I cuddle Clarence to me. ‘Don’t listen to him, Clarence. He likes cats. What does he know?’
‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ Matt says. ‘But do you know what you’re doing? Have you had a dog before?’
‘Not since I was a kid, but yeah, I do know what I’m doing. They were going to put him in kennels, and he has a phobia of kennels.’
‘A phobia of kennels?’
‘Yeah.’
Matt glances from me to Clarence. ‘Isn’t it hard work, looking after a dog?’
‘Yes, sometimes. But it’s worth it. Anyway, I love him. And look, he loves me, see?’ Right on cue, Clarence licks my face. ‘You’ll learn to love him too. I know it.’
I realize too late that I shouldn’t have used the word ‘love’. For a moment, Matt looks pained, and he turns away from me to look out his window.
We’re both quiet for a while, listening to the rain on the roof. Clarence settles his little paws against my knees, watching it with us.
‘Thanks for coming today,’ I say. I want to tell Matt how much it means to me, but the words sound stilted even in my own head. So does I really appreciate it. And I’m very grateful. Adult words I haven’t grown into yet. ‘You’re kind of great.’
He smiles then, but it’s small. ‘Thanks.’
Sitting there in the car with him, the rain beating down on the roof, I realize two things. One, I am in love with him. And two, it’s not enough.
I watch his face as he glances at me to smile before sliding the key into the ignition and starting the car. This surprising, gentle, kind boy – more of a man, really – who is patient with me, who’d look after me. Who would love me. None of this was supposed to happen. We were meant to be safe with each other.
I want to be able to say, Yes! Let’s give it a go. Let’s take a chance on love. Because this is it, isn’t it? This is the point when I’m meant to change my mind. I’m meant to let love in, or something. Open up, let down my walls.
But I can’t. Part of me wants to – a big part of me wants to – but I know that I’m not ready. It’s not a line, or an excuse, or a defence mechanism. It’s knowing myself and trusting myself. I’m not ready. All of this time with Matt, who is so perfect for me, has been proof. Tiny acts of self-sabotage, the way I’ve held myself back.
Maybe he really is ready, I don’t know. I can’t know. But I do know that we’ll hurt each other. I’ll hurt him or he’ll hurt me, and I honestly don’t know which would be worse. Either way, I wouldn’t be able to take it. Not now, while I’m as fragile as I am. Maybe one day I’ll be strong enough to take it, or at least the risk of it, like so many other people seem to be able to do. But not now. Just … not now.
‘Straight home?’ Matt asks me.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘But maybe we can go for a walk or something? With Clarence?’
He glances at me again, like he can see inside my head. ‘Sure,’ he says.
When we get back to Ventrella Road, Clarence stops at Dilys’s old front door and looks at me expectantly.
‘Oh God,’ I say. ‘My heart can’t take this.’
‘Didn’t you explain it to him?’ Matt asks.
‘Clearly not well enough,’ I reply, sticking out my tongue.
Matt squats. ‘Mate,’ he says to Clarence, very seriously. ‘Dilys has died. That means she’s not around right now to take care of you. But you’ll see her again one day. In the meantime, Suze is going to take care of you. Isn’t that great?’ He points at me, and Clarence turns his head to look at me, as if he understands. ‘You can look after each other.’
OK, yeah. I definitely do love him.
‘Come on, bud,’ I say, picking up Clarence. ‘It’s this way. Brand new home for you.’
It takes me a while to get sorted enough to leave the bedsit, because I take my time looking through the box of Clarence’s stuff, carrying him around so he can sniff everything. Matt is patient and quiet, leaning against the wall by the door, watching us.
‘Ready?’ is all he says, when I’m finally clipping the lead on to Clarence’s collar.
‘Ready,’ I say.
The rain has stopped and the air feels fresh when we walk outside and head towards Preston Park together, Clarence’s little paws light against the concrete. Every now and then he looks up at me, like he’s checking I’m still there.
‘So, why dogs?’ Matt asks when we reach the park.
‘Why not dogs?’ I reply.
‘Cats are independent,’ he says. ‘I respect that.’
I shake my head. ‘Dogs love you unconditionally,’ I say. ‘They give so much and expect so little back. They’re like the opposite of people. How can you not love that? Doesn’t it make you want to make the entire world better for them? Dogs are too good for us. We don’t deserve them.’
Matt smiles a little, and I expect him to disagree with me. But all he says is, ‘That’s fair.’
‘Dogs are proven to help things like anxiety and depression, too,’ I say.
‘Cats also do that,’ Matt says.
‘I’m not actually anti-cats,’ I say, laughing. ‘I’m just very pro-dog, that’s all. Oh, damn, I should’ve brought a ball or something.’
‘Hey,’ Matt says, soft, and I turn to him. ‘What did you actually want to talk about?’
I try to smile, but it falters on my face. ‘Hard stuff.’
‘Ah,’ he says. He looks down and scuffs the concrete with his foot, like a little boy. ‘I thought so.’
I take a deep breath. This is going to hurt. ‘I’m really sorry about how I reacted when you said … what you said. After Kel’s, I mean.’
His mouth quirks up. ‘Yeah, I remember what I said.’
‘Yeah. That. It wasn’t OK, the things I said. It was so not OK. I’m not going to try and make excuses for it. But that’s part of the problem, you know? It’s part of why I can’t say yes to you.’
He frowns a little. ‘What is?’
‘Me. Not being able to handle things very well. Being the kind of fragile that goes off sometimes and hurts other people.’
‘Being in pain isn’t a reason to not—’
‘I know,’ I interrupt. ‘I do know that. But for me, right now, it is. I’m still recovering from a lot of bad shit. I’m still learning who I am and what I want. I don’t have the space in my head to be …’ I try and think of the right word. ‘Unselfish? Does that make sense? I think I’ve got to put myself first for a while, for good and bad. I’m still getting myself together. I’m just not … I’m just not ready yet. And that’s nothing to do with you. If I was going to want someone, it would be you, of course it would be you, every time.’ The words are starting to tumble out too fast, my breath quickening, trying to make sense out of the confusion in my head and my heart. ‘You know that, right?’
He hesitates, then nods. ‘I want to make you happy,’ he says. ‘I want to be the one who makes it right.’
‘You can’t,’ I say. ‘And that’s a terrible foundation for a relationship, anyway.’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘But I want it anyway.’
I can’t help smiling. ‘You’re soft.’
‘For you,’ he says. ‘Only for you. You know, before we met, Kel said that I’d love you. That’s what he said.’
‘He didn’t mean actually love.’
‘So what? What’s the difference, really? He was right either way.’ He takes a deep breath in and looks away. ‘It kind of hurts a bit.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I really am. ‘I’d say yes if I could.’
He smiles, still looking slightly away from me.
‘Are you going to all-or-nothing me?’ I ask. I mean it to be lighthearted, but I know it’s not. The idea of losing him from my life is painful; actually painful.
He shakes his head, turning back to me. Simply, he says, ‘No.’
I hold out my hand and he takes it slowly, eyes on mine. ‘I’m not … I’m not saying no.’ I look at him, scanning his
face for understanding. ‘It’s just not a yes.’ I hesitate, then add, cautiously, ‘Yet.’
A smile blooms on his face, soft and warm.
‘Not that I’m asking you to wait,’ I add quickly. ‘Don’t think you’re waiting or anything. That would be crap.’
‘It’s OK,’ he says. ‘I get it. Friends. Right?’
Relief settles in my chest and I let out a breath. ‘Definitely friends.’
He nods. ‘Just friends.’
‘There’s no just about that,’ I say. ‘My friends are everything. They’re my whole life.’ I give his hand a squeeze, and he squeezes back.
‘OK,’ he says.
‘OK?’ I ask. ‘We’re all good?’
Matt lets go of my hand and puts an arm around me, pulling me in. He drops a kiss on top of my hair, rests his head against mine for just a second. ‘We’re all good,’ he says.
36
‘Always Gold’
Radical Face
On our first night together, Clarence ignores his bed and sits patiently beside mine instead, eyes fixed on me in the dark, waiting until I give in and let him jump up. I tell myself that it’s just for tonight, a one-off before he gets settled in, but it happens again the next night. And the night after that.
I’m not sorry, though. Having Clarence in my life is even more joyful than I’d hoped, especially considering there’s precious little joy to be found elsewhere. I’m still sad about Dilys – I keep feeling like I’m forgetting something, then remembering that I’ve got no reason to go the care home any more. Matt and I are back to sharing messages back and forth every day, but we haven’t found a rhythm yet in our post-I-love-you, let’s-be-friends space. I’m nervous to say the wrong thing, and I can tell he is, too. I know we just have to wait this awkward stage out, and that it’ll be worth it in the end, but still. I haven’t spoken properly to Brian for almost a month, which is by far the longest we’ve ever gone without a real conversation, including the times I’ve been hospitalized. I’ve stopped trying to pester Caddy into talking to me again, leaving her with a final I can wait. Just message me when you’re ready xx, that she ignored, as she’d ignored all my other messages. I still feel sick with worry that Rosie’s wrong, that this won’t blow over and she won’t ever forgive me. I hate that all I can do is wait.