by JA Andrews
Once more, she is overpowering me. My heart is racing with the temper that is brewing. I’m trying to control it, but she’s asking for my opinion.
‘I am his wife.’ I snap back. ‘This isn’t your decision. I’m sorry. Really, I am, but he was my husband and I don’t want him buried. Can we leave it at that now? I don’t want us to fall out with each other.’
Donna stares at me briefly. I don’t know what else to say.
‘I would rather you helped me than argued with me.’ I continue, to console her a little. ‘His death has affected us all, hasn’t it? We can do something lovely to remember him, even if he isn’t buried. Maybe we can plant a tree and have a plaque too as somewhere to visit?’
Donna wipes her eyes and nods in agreement. Then she takes a few steps backwards and turns briefly to check on Daniel who is sat on the chair in the living room playing with his toys.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, ‘forgive me. I’ve never been good with my timing. I feel so strongly about it – but respect that it’s your decision in the end.’
Donna comes towards me with her arms out. I cuddle her.
‘I need your help, Mum,’ I explain as we are still locked in an emotional embrace. ‘The house, the funeral, I don’t know where to begin. I have no idea what Michael has spent our money on. I’m going to wait until the funeral is over so I’ll be more mentally up to it. All the phone calls, the letters and people I’ll have to deal with.’
We separate and wipe our eyes.
‘Another week or so won’t make any difference, I agree, but you need to start by looking after yourself better,’ Donna says, still wiping her cheeks. ‘Let me come around again tomorrow and we will sort out what we can.’
‘Thank you,’ I reply, sighing with relief, the anxiety of packing up all Michael’s clothes still looming over me. ‘Did Michael ever mention anything to you about anything?’
‘Anything?’ Donna replies, ‘what do you mean?’
‘His debts or gambling. Has he ever mentioned these to you when I wasn’t around?’ I ask with more detail. ‘I know Michael liked the casino before we were seeing each other but he said that was all behind him by the time we got married.’
‘He wouldn’t talk to me about anything like that – not before talking to you,’ Donna replies, ‘I know he used to like the odd flutter on the horses now and again.’
‘It was mostly cash withdrawals,’ I respond, trying to analyse if she knew anything or not. ‘Most of the credit card bills statements show he used cards to take money out. I have no idea what he spent that money on, and the interest is higher. Getting higher every month.’
Donna looks surprised and continues to shake her head to give an indication she had no idea.
‘Maybe we can go through it all in a few days then,’ I say and leave it at that for now. ‘My head is constantly thinking, constantly worried, constantly unsure of anything.’
‘I’ll go back home and have a discussion with Pete,’ Donna says, walking towards the door to leave. ‘I’ll let you know what we can do to help.’
Donna gives Daniel a kiss on the cheek before leaving the house. That moment between us was good to clear the air. Donna didn’t seem to challenge anything I told her at all. She brushed off the gambling question and left.
I wonder what she really knew, if anything?
Twenty
Gary
I’m angry. I’ve been mad for most of this afternoon after calming down from a violent outburst caused by my own frustrations. I’ve been reflecting on my life, some of the good choices but mostly all of the bad. No one should see me in this mental state of mind. I end up hating myself for my temper. It has always been my downfall and I feel guilty for taking out my frustrations on my ex-wife by hitting her. I blame my violent temper for steering her in the direction of sleeping with another man.
I have been staring at my phone for hours but there is still nothing from Jenny. All morning I’ve been wondering when she will call me again and if she wants to see me. Maybe I should ask her if she wants to go out for a meal. I think she needs cheering up or a distraction at least. She’s ignoring me and it’s killing me.
She should have called me by now. I was expecting her to need me and to discuss Michael’s death with me because this is what binds us to each other. We can support each other. I have prepared another round of discussions in my mind to help her concentrate on her grief. I get excited when she needs me to tell her what I saw. Jenny has made me feel needed again and I enjoy her company.
Why has she not contacted me? Does she not like me?
I keep thinking about Michael’s last moments over and over in my head so that I get the same story without any loss of detail. I told Jenny that Michael was crying out for her. I also made her aware of how much he must have needed her. The guilt she should be feeling was meant to bring us closer together. We are supposed to be friends.
Where are you, Jenny?
I go through different stages with this temper of mine. Stages of rage. Sometimes I accept that some people treat me like shit. It’s eating away at me and now my mind too. I’m sat here in the living room with nothing. I’ve smashed the room in a fit of rage because I feel like I have lost everything. The sofa is torn and with stuffing hanging out either side while the television remains on its stand but with the screen shattered into pieces. I’ve destroyed everything around me, and it feels good. Finding Jenny has given me a new purpose in life. She should have contacted me by now.
My life was well and truly over the day my wife left me. I couldn’t see it then but now it’s clear to me. He took her from me. Jenny and I are the same but she doesn’t realise it. I know what that loss feels like. She doesn’t ask me how I am or how I am feeling yet she’s my friend.
My heart is racing; I need to control this temper. I have to get my shit together. He destroyed my world. I’m trying to calm my emotions by taking in deep breaths and then releasing them slowly just as the doctor advised. All I want to be is normal and accepting that this is now my way of life is hard. The counselling is useless; I turn up just to play the game. It’s a tick-box exercise and they’re all paid to listen to me. I wonder if they really care.
Does anyone really care?
I need to learn to manage my demons. Some days are better than others but today is a terrible day. I’m in two minds whether to get in my van and drive right over there or not. I am not sure that it wouldn’t push her away from me, and that is the last thing I want right now. All my hard efforts destroyed because of my own enthusiasm.
Pull it together, Gary, you can do this.
I cannot even be bothered to eat tonight. My stomach is churning; it feels as though it’s in knots. My mind is ticking over like crazy as the hunger starts to gnaw. I am thinking about all those failed relationships that led me to this point in life. My wife is now my ex-wife and I have no idea where she is or even if she is in the country. I fell out with my mother soon after the divorce. Although I am aware that she is in a care home, I’ve not seen her for years. I don’t think she would be any happier to be in my life right now, or lack of one, than I would be in hers. We had a falling out when she needed to go into a care home. The dementia is too bad for me to care for her myself. I keep telling myself that maybe she’s even forgotten who I am by now. It’s easier to deal with that way.
I was living the high life not so long ago. Now I sit alone in this house and drive round in my van staring at other people. I can’t help but watch how others live. Life is so precious yet could be destroyed by circumstance in a cruel twist of fate. No matter how much I had my life under control, nothing could prepare me for this feeling: the shock, the sadness, the anger and the loneliness and the nothingness that fills me with hatred. That feeling of wanting to see it all turned around.
I can’t let it go. I need it to be over with.
I’m aware that I keep rocking back and forth on the remains of my sofa. I stare at the phone again. I look at the text messages I
sent Jenny and then double-check I haven’t mislaid her replies. I am tense because I was expecting better from her. I know she is interested, I sensed it. I could see the spark in her eyes when I mentioned Michael’s name. When I sat there and described his last breath, I saw her. I saw how she needed to feel a part of that moment. For the first time in years I made a connection with someone – and now Jenny is ignoring me.
Please text me back.
I can’t keep sitting here, waiting for Jenny to reply. I should instigate something to make her call me. I need to see her again. Maybe I should drive past and knock on the door uninvited to see what kind of response I get. Jenny doesn’t seem a cold-hearted person which is why I thought she would contact me more.
I have a fascination with her. I wonder what Michael saw in Jenny. I have often sat here thinking about the last day he spent with her. Those final hours they had together without knowing what was to come. Those last moments they should have cherished.
What went through his mind? What plans did they make together?
I hope that Jenny understands what I have been going through. I did explain that my wife had been having an affair. Although our situations are not entirely the same, I know how it feels to have your life destroyed that quickly. The cause of my demons.
The buzz from my mobile phone alerts me to the message. I am shaking a little with the anticipation but can see that she has responded. I knew it; I knew she would message me. I was right all along and my trust in my own instincts is restored – then the disappointment shoots me right back down to earth. Jenny was meant to send a text message inviting me over for a chat but instead I receive an update that Michael’s funeral service is being planned. I am to expect a date in due course. This was not the message I was expecting but I could use her contact as a means to guide the conversation in the direction I want. I’ll send a reply about the missing wedding ring.
Thank you for letting me know. I am finding it hard to sleep. Can’t stop thinking about that day either. The more I focus on it, the more I am sure Michael was wearing his wedding ring. Did anyone find it?
I noticed the obsession she had with Michael’s wedding ring and this may be an excellent route to take to force her to meet me again. Come on, Jenny, please reply, will you? I’ve laid the bait and I need you to take it.
Within minutes my phone buzzes again. I sit up with the excitement of her contact and get myself comfortable on the torn sofa. I read her reply, which asks again if I am feeling any better. Jenny continues to mention that she is struggling to sleep too. She can’t stop thinking about Michael, calling out his name.
Holy fuck, she’s calling me. The phone is ringing. I don’t answer immediately, because I don’t want to look keen, but then…
‘Hello. Hi Jenny, I just got your message. I was just reading it. How are you feeling?’ I ask. She doesn’t sound well. Her voice is quiet, soft and solemn. ‘Are you calling about the wedding ring?’
‘Yes,’ Jenny replied, ‘I didn’t mention it on the text but it has just been assumed as lost in the accident. No one can find it.’
‘I am having nightmares about Michael’s accident,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve been getting counselling too, but it’s helping only a little. I think it’s reminding me and giving me flashbacks from that evening,’ I continue while she remains silent. ‘I am sure he was wearing his wedding ring. It wasn’t important enough to remember at the time because I was so focused on making sure he was comfortable but now other memories of that evening are slowly coming back.’
‘Are you absolutely certain?’ Jenny asks. ‘It means so much to me, more than I can talk about. Are you a hundred per cent sure?’
‘Shall I go back to the police to confirm it?’ I respond. ‘Add it into my statement as confirmation?’
Jenny hesitates for a moment. There are a few seconds where neither of us talk but I can hear her breathing down the phone. There is a soft and sensual tone to her breath.
‘No,’ says Jenny, ‘don’t go to the police. It’s not as important to them as it is me because they don’t seem to care about the ring. It’s irrelevant to them.’
‘That’s just it,’ I reply. ‘They know how to provide all the information, how to relay those sad messages and help you with support, but they will not know how you can possibly feel until they’ve been through this themselves. They can’t relate.’
I am beginning to sense she has my trust. I want to see her again, look at her in the eyes and see how she is coping.
‘Do you want to come over tomorrow afternoon?’ Jenny asks. ‘We can have a chat about the wedding ring. If you’re happy to talk me through everything again, you can stay for dinner if you like?’
I struggle to hide my enthusiasm but I manage to hold off for a couple of seconds before replying. I don’t want to appear overly keen, nor expose my frustrations.
‘I don’t want to burden you.’ I reply. ‘I’m sure you don’t want me getting in the way.’
‘It will not be any bother,’ Jenny says. ‘Think of it as my way of saying thank you. It’s been a strange few weeks but you were there when Michael needed someone. I don’t know how to repay you for that. Dinner is the least I can do.’
I ended the conversation with telling her I didn’t want to put her out in any way but dinner would be lovely. I’m sure looking after a young boy on her own with all that stress from the accident in her mind is troubling. It’s admirable that she still has time to think about how I am coping, yet she is suffering the most tragic loss of her life. This makes me realise the strength of her character and reflect and contemplate on what I want from her.
I want Jenny to feel our connection too.
Twenty-One
Donna
I’m looking at Pete who is sat in his favourite chair with his favourite mug. The television has been playing one quiz show after another this afternoon and while we usually are first to chip in with our guesses while arguing which one of us is right, today we sit in silence, staring at the screen and lost in our own worlds and thoughts. We are united by the loss of our son but separated by our emotions. Today has been the toughest day since the news of Michael’s death.
I’m struggling with the choice of cremation for my son. He was my son and today his father and I have contacted a local funeral director who will be collecting his body from the mortuary; a memory that I will never forget for the rest of my life is my son on a slab, cold and lifeless. I don’t like the idea that in a week he will be burnt and I can’t shift away from the disappointment that we will have nowhere to visit him. I wanted a grave, a place to sit and feel like I could connect and reminisce. A cremation will destroy everything that is left of him and the ashes will eventually disappear. I will have even less of him to remember if the wind sweeps his remains around the crematorium grounds or Jenny scatters him across a field. She hasn’t even thought that far ahead.
I should have been given a say in this decision. I’m his mother.
Jenny didn’t seem interested in listening to my feelings about the funeral but I am cautious about arguing with her in case she stops me seeing Daniel. Jenny’s mental health is getting worse; her physical state is starting to look dreary and unkempt. Daniel is clearly not being looked after properly and from what his school tells me – because let’s face it, Jenny has given up taking him anymore – he is having his dinner and going straight to bed every night. I have my fears that he is being left alone in his room for hours at a time. Jenny sits up all night with her bottles of wine, pouring her heart out to Gary. I’m disappointed. She’s coming across like she’s losing sight of who she is and what Michael would have expected from her. And she’s contacting other men. But Daniel is my main concern. I need her to realise that the little boy will be better off with us for a while.
I don’t know who to turn to without causing some form of grievance between us. I keep telling myself that I will confront Jenny about my thoughts on everything after Michael’s funeral. Pete reminds me that she has
a lot on her mind – but we are his parents and as much a part of his life as Jenny was.
Michael’s death itself, his money worries, the whole trauma of the last few weeks has changed Jenny drastically. I barely recognise her anymore. She can just about manage to get out of bed. I don’t know what to do for the best and it concerns me. I have seen the drastic changes every other day when I support her by taking Daniel to preschool. She was even contemplating taking him out of school for a while until she gets back on her feet. Keeping him away from his little friends and isolating him in the home is not healthy.
‘What good is that to Daniel?’ I had asked. ‘Don’t you think that poor boy needs a routine? He’s lost his father and doesn’t need to lose his friends.’
I didn’t get much in the way of a reply: neither an agreement, nor an argument to deter me – but I still turn up and take him. Michael would never have wanted to see her like this. If nothing changes soon I’m going to have to step in. Maybe after the funeral is over she will start to get better. We will see.
I had my suspicions about Michael’s debt problem. I didn’t want to confirm it with Jenny when she mentioned it on my last visit but Michael asked me for a considerable sum of money last year. He sounded desperate, like he was in trouble.
‘Don’t ask me any questions, Mum,’ he said in a state of despair at the dining room table. ‘I know you have it so can you lend it? I am desperate. This is one of those times when I need your support – but please don’t say a word to Jenny, not ever.’
How can a son come to his mother with that question and expect not to be challenged?
‘I brought you into this world, Michael,’ I remember saying. ‘If you’re in trouble and you don’t want anyone to know, you should at least be able to tell your mother.’
Ten thousand pounds is still a lot of money to us. We’re not quite ready for retirement yet and the shop has constant stock to re-order and re-sell. I didn’t have all of the money to lend him, only half. I promised him that I wouldn’t tell anyone and he promised that one day he would pay me back.