The Vine

by C. A Ellis

  “I need your arms around me, protecting me forever, just like you promised. I know even in death you’ll shine down on me and watch over me, because I know you would never break a promise to me. The only way I know I will survive this is if I go away and live another life as another person. I’ll be a person who survives purely to make you proud of me, but I can promise you this—never will another man be close to me again, especially the way you were, mind, body and soul.”

  The door opens, and the nurse pops her head in. “You really need to leave now, Miss.” She must notice my tears as I receive her best pitiful smile.

  “Okay,” I sniffle, “I’ll just say goodbye.”

  The nurse nods and retreats quietly, shutting the door. I look back at Luke. “So this is my goodbye to you, my beautiful man, and I know this is just how you would have wanted my goodbye to be—intimate, just you and me, and on our own with no prying eyes. I know people will think I’m callous leaving you before you go, but I know that you won’t. I know you’d understand, and plus, I haven’t left you; I’m just going to wait until my time comes, so I can be with you again.

  “I’ve lost my leading man, but you will always be my hero, and forever in my heart. I love you so much, baby.” I place Luke’s hand on my chest, over my broken, beating heart, and then I gently place it back down on the bed. I lean over and kiss his lips gently, and a tear rolls down my cheek and drops onto his. “See you on the other side” I whisper, as I shakily stand.

  I walk to the door and open it; I vowed not to, but I have to, so I turn back one last time before I walk out the door and out of my beautiful man’s life for good. As I close the door behind me, I lean back against it as I try to catch my breath in between the sobs that are trying to burst out through my chest. And then I run. I run as fast as I can to my awaiting taxi before I can change my mind.

  Back in Luke’s room sits the box containing the Louboutin heels, and Katy’s letter containing the necklace and bracelet. On Luke’s bed is the indent of where I sat. Unbeknown to me, as I sit sobbing in the back of my taxi on the way to the airport, my heart totally obliterated, Luke’s hand is on the bed moving slowly about, frantically and desperately trying to find mine, as his own tear meets the one of mine on his cheek.

  Chapter Fourteen – Lizzy

  When the taxi drops me at the airport, I know I pay him, but I’m not aware of much else. I am totally numb, and exhausted from crying. Thank God the taxi driver does the right thing and just leaves me alone. He catches my eye every now and then in the rear-view mirror, but he says nothing. I pay him and he hands me my bag, but I can’t even thank him. I have nothing to say.

  I know that I’m doing the right thing for my own wellbeing and sanity—well, maybe I don’t know for sure, but I certainly think I’m doing what is best, even though the pain in my chest is telling me otherwise. How can doing something so wrong be the right thing to do? But I just know I have to go. I feel immense guilt, and I’m hurting so badly from my loss. I can’t talk, I’m barely breathing, for goodness sake and at this moment in time, it’s all I can do to put one foot in front of the other whilst carrying my bag.

  I queue, and I hand my ticket and passport over; my bag goes through, and I walk away still mute, even to the overly-smiley, polite, chatty stewardess. She soon gives up when she gets no response from me. I can’t even feel bad about how rude I must seem. Nothing matters. I’m not aware of anything except the constant searing pain in my chest.

  As I go to sit down in one of the only free chairs, I notice there is a takeaway McDonald’s bag on it. I pick it up, but don’t see a bin. I sit down still holding it, as I know my legs could give way at any minute. As I sit looking at it, I have an idea. I pull my mobile phone out of my bag, I make sure it’s switched off and place it in the McDonald’s bag. I sit waiting until I see a man pushing his trolley around collecting rubbish, and I walk over to him, give him a brief smile and throw the bag into his trolley.

  I sit back in my seat until I eventually hear the announcement that I now need to board my flight. It could have been minutes, or it could have been hours—I don’t know, as time doesn’t matter, and to top it all off, I feel as sick as a dog; the churning in my stomach is so bad.

  I stand in a queue, waiting to board the aeroplane amongst excitable tourists, gorgeous Italian men and women going home and stern businessmen who just want to board quickly and get to Italy, probably for more meetings. I board the aircraft, I find my seat, I place my handbag under the seat in front of me and I fasten my seatbelt. This is all I can manage, one mundane, trivial, meaningless thing at a time.

  I sit back in my seat; I lay my head back, but turn it to the side so I can look out the window. Watching as the aeroplane makes its way slowly to the runway, when it gets there, it stops briefly before I hear the engines fire up fully and it heads down the runway, getting faster and faster before I feel the nose of the aircraft tip up and we take off. The tears silently fall down my cheeks as I think of what I have lost; he’s actually gone, and now, so am I. I vow not to, but eventually I bravely look at the empty seat next to me, and I think of how my beautiful man should be sitting there looking back at me, with his gorgeous, blue, smiling eyes shining with happiness as they always did when he looked at me.

  He would have probably been dressed in linen trousers, and have the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. I always used to laugh about that and ask him why he didn’t just wear a short-sleeved shirt instead, but he would always just smile at me and shake his head as if I just really wouldn’t understand. I wasn’t one to tell him how to dress; I didn’t need to—he always looked immaculate and perfectly groomed anyway. Luke would have sat here next to me with his fingers laced through mine during the whole flight, frowning if I had to break contact to use the toilet.

  At some point during the flight, I would have leaned on his shoulder, he would have put his arm around me and I would have probably dozed off. I can feel a slight smile tug on my lips at these thoughts of Luke and what could have been, running through my mind. I can visualise him so clearly I can almost feel his presence. But as I blink, I see the chair that my beautiful man should be sitting in is indeed empty, and it hits me like a brick as I turn back to the window and sob. The tears have returned, but this time they are relentless, and it is so sudden, and they are so intense they knock me out of the daze I was in.

  The reality of what’s happened in the last twenty-four hours hits me, and as the gut-wrenching sobs leave my body, I am struggling to breathe. I try to catch my breath in-between each sob. I suddenly become aware of my surroundings for the first time since Katy came to the house to deliver the most horrendous, life-changing news that I could ever hear; if she ever wanted to rock my world, she did it with that one visit. Things start to come back to me in flashes, making me relive moments all over again—being at the hospital, listening to the consultant basically telling us Luke wasn’t going to make it and my life at that moment feeling like it was ending itself. I recall Luke’s mum in tears, Smyth holding me, Cole in absolute bits as I had never seen him before and Katy, along with Luke’s dad, trying to hold it all together for everyone else’s sake.

  I remember needing to get out of there, shouting at Katy, then being in Luke’s house with all my thoughts and memories. I remember deciding on the course of action I needed to take to survive, writing Luke, Katy and George’s letters, going to the hospital and seeing Luke—my beautiful, gorgeous, handsome, sexy, wonderful man, who cherished and worshiped me, and I him. I see myself talking to him and explaining things to him that I knew he’d understand.

  Then I was in the taxi, and I suddenly remembered I’d called Jett, giving him some instructions for a funeral that I couldn’t attend and telling him to phone Katy for all the details. He had barely been able to hear me with the mouse-like monotone I was speaking in. I realise now, as I think back to it, he was clearly at one of his gigs with all the background noise there was around, and bless him for answering my call, even though h
e had been busy. Yet I’d been so curt and abrupt to him. He didn’t deserve that; I hope when he rings Katy and gets all the details of what I had been trying to explain to him he will forgive me.

  Then it’s all just a blur of fuzziness, until it’s like I had just woken up here and was reliving the worst moments of my life all over again. Would it be like this day after day? If it is, I don’t think I can take it. I’d have to keep my mind from going there; they say the brain can cut out bad things to make you deal with them more easily. Hopefully that’ll be the case for me. At the moment, I can’t see a single second, minute, or hour of the day when I wouldn’t think about Luke.

  Lost in my thoughts, I suddenly notice something in my peripheral vision. I turn to look, and I see a young man in the seat next to Luke’s empty one. That’s how out of it I’ve been; I didn’t even realise anyone was sitting there. I notice his arm is held out to me, and in his hand is a tissue. As I look at it, he pushes it forward, offering it to me. I take it and wipe my eyes and cheeks, soaking it through. I see his hand is out again, and this time as I look, he hands me the whole pack. His mouth has a half smile on it, but I can tell by the way his eyebrows are pulled together he is concerned for me. I smile back, taking the tissues and thanking him. I take one out, wipe my nose and try to blow it discretely.

  I figure the man probably doesn’t speak English, as he hasn’t said anything to me, but then he speaks to the stewardess, asking her for a glass of water, and as she walks away he turns to me. “Are you okay?” he asks. I nod in response and realise he actually speaks very good English, but with the most amazing Italian accent. “You look so sad; in fact, I would go as far as to say you are the saddest person I have ever seen in my life,” he says sympathetically.

  “I am,” I say. It’s not a question; it’s a statement, as I’m looking into his dark brown eyes and meaning every word. He nods at me slowly as the stewardess returns with his glass of water. As he turns to take his glass from her, I look him over, wondering why he is on this flight. At first glance, I would’ve said he’s a tourist or on holiday, as he has on shorts, flip-flops and a polo shirt, but after hearing his accent and on closer inspection, his black flip-flops are Prada, his linen shorts are tailored, crisp and well-made, his orange polo shirt is Armani and he has the collar turned up on it.

  If a guy is dressed like this at home in the U.K., I’d think he’s a bit of a Jack the Lad, but on this guy, it just oozes class and style—a typical trait of a native Italian. As I look back to his face, I am embarrassed to find he has caught me checking him out. I flush, although I wasn’t checking him out in any other way than to decide on the reason for his trip. In fact, it does nothing but remind me of Luke and when he caught me checking him out over the menu on our first date.

  I thank him for the glass of water he’s handing out to me, and I am just thinking what a kind gesture it is when he asks me if I am feeling a bit better. I nod and look away from his two big pools of chocolate. Someone could drown in those babies, I think to myself. Unfortunately for him, I would prefer to jump into pools of ice blue. “What’s your name, bella?” he asks. Wow, that Italian accent is divine. I’ve always loved that accent, and the language too, actually. It would be my language of choice to learn because it is just so beautiful. Luke speaks fluent Italian…but then I mentally correct myself—Luke spoke fluent Italian, as in past tense.

  I know enough Italian to get by, which is why it makes such perfect sense for me to start a life there; well, actually none of this makes perfect sense. So this is it, I think, someone has asked me my name. What do I do? This is so much sooner than I imagined. He’s looking at me, awaiting my answer to what he must think is the simplest question, when in fact, for me at this moment in time, is the hardest. I ask myself, Am I Lizzy, trying to cope with this turmoil that’s called a life, or am I Ella? As I mentally argue the pros and cons, it suddenly hits me what I need to do.

  “My name’s Ella,” I say. “Ella Castel,” I continue, holding out my hand boldly for him to shake. He takes my hand, but turns it and lightly kisses the back of it; as I watch him do it, I think to myself, If Katy was here, she would stick her finger down her throat and make gagging noises, and if Luke was here, he would kick this guy’s arse into the middle of next week. I smile at these thoughts, but then stop and berate myself. Luke and Katy wouldn’t be here, because apart from Luke being dead, Katy and Luke don’t know Ella, and anyway, it’s not cringe-worthy at all; it’s sweet and quite sensual.

  My hand is still in his grasp, so I pull it lightly and he releases it instantly. He looks shocked, like he didn’t realise he was still holding it. “And your name is?” I prompt. “Luca,” he replies. My jaw drops and I feel the colour drain from my face, and all bravado is gone as I think to myself, You have got to be kidding me.

  Before he can say anymore, I mutter something to him about being pleased to meet him, and then I ask if he could excuse me so I can use the lavatory. He must have seen me physically pale, as he looks concerned again. I notice just how tall he is as he stands to let me out, and I head for the front of the aeroplane to join a small queue for the toilets.

  I feel like I’m being watched; in fact, I can feel eyes boring straight into me, and unless I’m mistaken, they belong to a tall, dark Italian with the biggest brown eyes I have ever seen. I want to see if I am right, but I don’t want to look straight at him as I don’t want him thinking I am seeking him out. So I slowly look at all the other travellers, wondering what their stories are. As my eyes reach our seats, I glance at him as if in passing, and my thoughts and instincts are confirmed, as he’s brazenly staring straight at me. He’s totally unembarrassed by it too, it would seem, because as I catch his eye, he doesn’t even look away; he just continues to stare at me. Someone taps me on my shoulder and it startles me, and I whip around to face them; I smile then, as I realise it is a lady letting me know that the toilet is now free.

  I step in and lock the door, and only then do I allow myself to breathe. I wash my hands, splash my face with water and look in the mirror. Seeing my own face reminds me of Luke, because I am just so used to seeing his face next to mine—at home, in the bedroom, in the bathroom, in the kitchen, in the lounge, in the car, in restaurants and in pictures. Oh, God, I think to myself, how am I ever going to begin to sort this mess out when my biggest reminder of Luke…is me?

  That dilemma is still in my head as I make my way back to my seat. Luca stands to let me back into my seat. “You can sit next to me if you like, Ella,” he offers. I’m instantly thrown by that sentence.

  “No thanks, I like the window seat actually.” I smile.

  “I would move over,” he suggests, but before I can protest, he continues, “but I like the aisle seat, as being tall I can stretch my leg out now and again.”

  “We all have our little quirks,” I say out loud, although mentally I’m breathing a sigh of relief.

  “So why are you so sad, Ella? You can tell me to mind my own business, if you like,” he says kindly.

  I sadly smile at him, and then I look away wistfully as I say, “A friend of mine has passed away.”

  “Oh, I am very sorry for your loss,” he says, tipping his head toward me.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “Was she a very close friend?” he asks.

  Ignoring the mistake, I nod my head saying, “Yes, the best,” as my eyes well up.

  A couple of minutes go by before Luca speaks again, and when he does, I can tell he’s trying to lighten the mood, and to be honest, I’m grateful. “Why are you going to Italy?”

  “I just need a break after everything, and I love Italy and have always wanted to go to Verona, so I’m going to start there, and then I might travel around a bit. I’m not really sure yet.”

  “It is a beautiful country; I am very lucky to have been brought up there. I mean, I love London too; I spend a lot of time there now, but I do find that in Italy, although everyone knows everyone in the local villages, it’s st
ill a quiet life. We all just go about our daily lives with no one taking much notice, whereas in London, even though it’s quite vast, everyone seems to want to know all your business—what you’re doing every minute of every day—and everything is a hundred miles an hour. When I’m there, I do miss the laid-back, relaxed life of Italy; that is why I come back frequently.”

  “Sounds perfect to me.” I smile back, thinking just how perfect it sounds for a quiet life of anonymity. I put my hand over my mouth to stifle a yawn. “Sorry, I think the day is catching up with me; it was a very early start.”

  Luca smiles at me kindly, and then catches the eye of the stewardess—which wasn’t hard, to be honest, since they’ve been constantly eyeing him up and checking if he was ok or needed anything. I was just thinking the customer service on this flight was second to none, but I now realise—to them, Luca is a fine source of eye candy, and because he is so polite to them, I think it’s the icing on the cake, since a lot of travellers are so arrogant and rude.

  Her eyes twinkling, the over-made-up stewardess returns with the pillow and blanket Luca must’ve asked for, and I am touched when I see he’s done it for me.

  I thank him quietly and prop the pillow near the window, leaning into it. It feels wonderful, as my eyes were now burning with exhaustion. Luca lays the blanket over me and I pull it tightly around my neck. Within seconds, I’m drifting off, and I’m glad I can forget everything for a short while.

  A bumping and jolting wakes me, and I sit up startled as I try to get my bearings. I look out the window and realise we have landed, and we are now cruising along the runway.