The Coordinates of Loss

by Amanda Prowse

  The hymns that followed were sung with gusto and Rachel was glad others had taken up the mantle, as emotion prevented her from getting a note out. After the service she and James stood by the chapel door, issuing and receiving hugs and handshakes to all who had stood and given thanks for the life of their son. She found it almost overwhelming when her dad wrapped her husband in his big arms and the two stood together, heads on each other’s shoulders, no words needed.

  They had decided against a get-together afterwards, wanting the service to be as short and meaningful as possible without the distraction of booze and small talk. People understood and she noticed seemed keen to be alone with their grief, the depths of which had been stirred by the words sincerely spoken.

  ‘That was as perfect as it could have been.’ He looked down at her.

  ‘Yes, yes, it was, and I am so, so glad you came all this way, James. It means the world, and of course it was only possible because you were here.’ She felt a flicker of desolation at the thought that he would soon be heading back to his island home.

  She saw him shiver. ‘You’re cold!’

  ‘You could say that. It’s bloody freezing.’ He shoved his hands inside his coat pocket and hunched his shoulders.

  ‘You’re a Bermy boy now, not used to this chilly weather.’

  He laughed.

  ‘Would you like to come back to my flat? I have coffee and central heating,’ she offered instinctively, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to want to spend time alone with this man.

  James nodded and moved his elbow away from his body, leaving just enough of a gap for her to place her arm through. It felt comfortable, familiar and yet her heart pounded in her chest as nerves set in. Reunited, they walked side by side along the pavements, until they trod the stairs to her flat.

  It felt strange having him in her little home. She watched as he slipped his arms from his winter coat and placed it on the back of the chair before taking a seat on the sofa, filling her little flat with his presence. Rachel put the kettle on, watching him from the doorway of the galley kitchen as he looked around the room. He was still as handsome as ever. She was struck by the way it felt to be in such close proximity to him, bringing to mind Gino and Vicky, laughing on the sofa, her dad with his arms around her mum’s shoulders, even Peter and Julie, verbally jumping to each other’s defence: couples, friends, lovers. Suddenly, she realised just how much she had missed being part of a two. James and Rachel. Rachel and James . . .

  ‘Are you happy here, Rachel?’

  ‘Oh!’ The question caught her a little off guard. ‘I am getting there. Mine is not a life I would have chosen, but it’s my life and that’s all there is to it. And I think happy is a stretch too far, but peace feels within reach. Yes, peace, that’s the very best I can hope for. I am out of my cocoon and I’m doing okay.’

  ‘Yep, that just about sums it up.’ He sat back against the cushions. ‘I know I am mending; my mind is sharper and I can now control my sadness, whereas before!’ He threw his hands in the air and she remembered a phone call when he was in the bank, sobbing . . .

  ‘Yes, sharper-minded, I agree with that, and I never really understood what Cee-Cee meant when she said you kind of learn to live with the pain, but you do, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, you do.’ He nodded sharply. ‘It’s like my body has swallowed up the whole experience and it sits inside me, always there, but I carry on.’

  ‘Are you happy?’ She returned the question.

  He looked towards the window and answered slowly. ‘Happy no, but better than I was. I am able to look at Oscar’s life as a whole and I wish I wasn’t able to; wish I didn’t know about his last chapter, but’ – he swallowed – ‘it’s as if my mind has now accepted that his death was part of his story. The seven years we had of him – his beginning, his middle and his end . . . He was ours and we loved him and we were lucky to have him.’

  ‘We were lucky,’ she managed. ‘And thank you for what you said in the chapel, it was beautiful.’

  ‘I meant it. And I keep thinking that if someone had asked me before he was born that if I knew in advance we would only get seven years but could choose not to have him, not to have this heartache, would I choose that?’

  ‘Of course not.’ She closed her eyes and answered for him.

  ‘Of course not,’ he confirmed.

  They took a moment to analyse this truth. This painful, bittersweet truth.

  ‘I sold the boat.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes. I had no desire to take her out and so . . .’

  She nodded her understanding. ‘I sometimes, in my less than lucid moments, think that the life in Bermuda carries on without me, as if Cee-Cee and Oscar and you are in the house on North Shore Road and everything is as it was, and strangely it brings me comfort. I can picture you all there having a lovely time.’

  He held her eyeline and there was a moment of silent contemplation for them both. She tried to imagine what it was going to feel like once he had returned to that house on the North Shore Road and the thought of him leaving caused something close to panic to rise in her throat.

  ‘Except I am not there with Cee-Cee and Oscar.’ He broke her thoughts. ‘I am there on my own and I am not having a lovely time.’

  She slipped down on to the sofa next to him. ‘Are you lonely, James?’ She felt bold asking.

  He looked at her. ‘I have been lonely since I stood in the galley with cups of coffee in my hands.’

  ‘Me too,’ she whispered.

  James reached out hesitantly and took her hand into his. Her stomach flipped and it was as if electricity flowed from his palm to hers. It was warm, it was life-giving and it felt a lot like home.

  ‘I miss you. I miss you so badly.’ He spoke softly.

  Rachel leaned in and placed her head on his chest in the place where she had woken and fallen asleep more times than she could possibly remember. And what she felt wasn’t scary or jarring, but instead felt a lot like a beginning.

  ‘You know, Rach, after everything we’ve been through, I don’t need beaches, sunsets, yachts or a view of the sea. I don’t need anything apart from moments like this, here with you.’

  ‘Paradise.’ The word slipped from her lips unbidden.

  ‘Yes.’ He tentatively kissed her scalp. ‘Paradise.’

  EPILOGUE

  Rachel used her hip to open the glass door and unwound her woolly scarf; it was far warmer inside than out. It was late afternoon, the lunchtime rush was over and she took a seat at a table near the back.

  ‘Be with you in a minute, doll!’

  ‘Thanks, Sandra. No rush!’ She hung her coat on the back of the chair and raised her hand in a wave, watching as the woman dealt with the customers sitting at the front.

  ‘So why don’t you just print what’s available on a menu?’ The girl was curious.

  ‘My son thinks it builds a relationship between customer and staff, and look at us’ – she touched her chest and then pointed at the girl – ‘here we are chatting!’ She leaned further in. ‘But if you want my honest opinion, I think a menu would be better. Nearly eight years we’ve been open and you have no idea how many times I have to answer the same bloody question.’

  ‘You are terrible!’ Rachel smiled at the woman she held in such high affection as she rushed past her.

  Sandra laughed. ‘Yes, but the thing is I can be as terrible as I like; he’s not going to sack me, is he? How can he, I’m his mum! And I work for free!’

  ‘There are times when I would quite like to sack my mum.’ She whispered the aside.

  ‘Talk of the devil!’ Sandra nodded towards the door as it opened and smiled at Brian, whom Rachel knew she had a soft spot for.

  ‘Afternoon, Brian, Jean, did you pick her up all right?’ Sandra hollered.

  ‘Yes, of course. She’s coming along now. She’s had a lovely day at school, you’ll be pleased to hear. But I’m not sure she was warm enough. She’s only
four, Rach, don’t you think she should have a vest on?’ Jean shrugged her arms from her coat.

  ‘I think she’s fine, Mum. You worry too much.’

  ‘I daresay, but that’s a mother’s job. Isn’t that right, Sandra?’

  ‘Tell me about it. Check on!’ she yelled towards the kitchen.

  Brian took a seat at the table and unbuttoned his coat. He held his thumbs up to Sandra, who was miming a cup of tea over her customers’ heads.

  Jean tutted.

  Rachel smiled.

  It was all part of the pantomime, the tuts, nudges, teasing and nagging – part of the rich tapestry of behaviour that formed the warm blanket that kept them all safe and sound inside the family unit. She loved living in the same city as her mum and dad, realising how easy it was to work and live with their support.

  It was even good to see Peter and Julie and the boys, on occasion.

  Rachel felt her heart lift at the sight of her daughter, her precious little girl coming through the door with a large painting in her hand.

  ‘Mummy!’

  ‘Well, hello, Miss Cecilly. I hear you’ve been painting?’

  Cecilly clambered on to her mum’s lap and carefully laid her work of art on the table. ‘It’s a house.’

  ‘Well, I can see that!’ She winked at her dad, thankful for the steer from Cecilly, as she had been guessing it was a flower.

  ‘That’s my room.’ Cecilly placed her little finger on a blob that could have been a window. ‘And that’s Oscar’s room, even though he doesn’t have a room here because he lives in heaven,’ she stated matter-of-factly.

  ‘Yes, he does.’ Rachel took comfort that Oscar was now and always would be very much a part of their family.

  ‘Can I have a drink, Mummy?’ Cecilly called out.

  ‘I’ll get it! Coming right up, poppet.’ Sandra swooped down and kissed the little girl, who added sparkle to all of their lives, even on the dullest of days, on the crown of her head.

  ‘And what can I get for her dad?’ Sandra smiled towards the door.

  ‘Oh, nothing for me, thanks, I don’t want to spoil my supper.’ James patted his stomach as he entered and stared at his wife. Rachel felt her heart pulse with love for him: her beautiful, beautiful man, the father of her children.

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame. I’ve got a slice of fresh carrot cake with your name on it.’ Sandra winked.

  ‘Go on then.’ He smiled and sat next to his wife.

  ‘James!’ Rachel sighed. ‘I’ve cooked lasagne; you’d better eat it.’

  ‘Don’t worry, love.’ Jean patted his arm. ‘I’ve got Alka Seltzer in my bag. I’ll leave you some.’

  James smiled at his mother-in-law.

  Glen came out of the kitchen. ‘And I believe this is yours, madam.’ He placed the orange juice in front of Cecilly.

  ‘Thanks, bud.’ James nodded in his direction.

  ‘No worries, might have to miss five-a-side, James; can you let Gino know?’

  James sucked his teeth. ‘He’s not going to be happy! You know the rule – you have to find a replacement or pay the fine!’

  ‘I’ll find a replacement. Christ, you’d think he’d let me off; we’ve got our final antenatal class.’

  ‘When’s your wife due?’ Jean asked.

  ‘Another three weeks.’

  ‘Ooh, could be anytime!’ James rubbed his hands together. ‘It’s so exciting!’

  Glen exhaled through bloated cheeks. ‘To be honest, I’m more scared than excited.’

  ‘Don’t be.’ James dug the fork into the carrot cake that had arrived. ‘You just have to go with the flow, take each day as it comes and go to sleep thankful every night.’ Rachel and James exchanged a knowing look.

  ‘Save some of that cake for Vicky, it’s her favourite!’ Rachel smiled at her husband, still thankful that he had packed up the good life on their little fishhook-shaped island and followed her to a Bristol suburb.

  ‘James is right,’ she advised Glen. ‘Try not to overthink it. You need to let these little people be who they are going to be. They come into your life and you have to treasure every second you get with them. And all you can do is love them unconditionally. That’s it. You will know what to do, instinctively, I’m sure of it.’ Rachel nodded and felt the small weight of the bottle of sand in her pocket.

  ‘Love them unconditionally, I can do that.’ Glen clapped.

  Her dad sat forward and spoke with uncharacteristic emotion. ‘I think being a parent is all about loving your kids no matter how far away they are.’

  Rachel closed her eyes and pictured her boy, swimming towards the horizon with a smile on his face.

  ‘I think you’re right, Dad; loving them no matter how far away they are. And learning how to take the rough with the smooth, one day at a time.’ She held her daughter close and kissed her on the top of the head. Little Cecilly, named after the woman to whom she and James would forever be indebted, their darling Cee-Cee, who despite knowing what it felt like to be sadder than sad, had been so wise, so kind at a time when they had needed it most. She smiled fondly at the thought of her. ‘And I guess never forgetting that, whatever happens, time heals. Time heals.’

  BOOK CLUB QUESTIONS

  Whose journey of grief did you most empathise/sympathise with – Rachel or James?

  How did it make you feel, that moment when James and Rachel realise that Oscar is gone?

  Which female character did you most closely identify with, Cee-Cee or Rachel, and why?

  Did it add to or detract from the story to have Rachel and Cee-Cee’s narratives interweaved in this way?

  Did you feel it was right that there was no resolution over Oscar’s disappearance?

  Did the story make you want to visit Bermuda?

  What one thing will stay with you from the book?

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Photo © 2012 Paul Smith of Paul Smith Photography at www.paulsmithphotography.info

  Amanda Prowse likens her own life story to those she writes about in her books. After self-publishing her debut novel, Poppy Day, in 2011, she has gone on to author nineteen novels and six novellas. Her books have been translated into a dozen languages and she regularly tops bestseller charts all over the world. Remaining true to her ethos, Amanda writes stories of ordinary women and their families who find their strength, courage and love tested in ways they never imagined. The most prolific female contemporary fiction writer in the UK, with a legion of loyal readers, she goes from strength to strength. Being crowned ‘queen of domestic drama’ by the Daily Mail was one of her finest moments. Amanda is a regular contributor on TV and radio, but her first love is, and will always be, writing.

  You can find her online at www.amandaprowse.com, on Twitter @MrsAmandaProwse, and on Facebook at www.facebook.com/amandaprowsenogreaterlove.