‘It’s me my little sexpot! I’ve just left work…it’s about…aaahhh…noon…you must be driving or something…anyways, I’ll be on my way in the next hour…I am sooo excited, baby! You, me and Rubes will have the best time, you’ll see! The BEST!! I love you more than life, I hope you know that and I am so sorry about today. I promise I’ll make it up to you. Don’t go ‘chasing cars’ ‘til I get there, ok babe? See you soon! Love you.’
Each time she played it she could pretend he was still alive. She could pretend he was just at the other end of the line. It comforted her to hear his voice; the voice of the funny, loving, kind, sexy man who had come into her life and given her so much—loved her so much. How could that be over? It just didn’t seem real. Maybe that’s why she couldn’t cry. When they had attended his Uncle’s funeral over in Canada six months ago, Sam had hated how sombre the whole affair was. They stood in the church whilst the choir sang Abide with Me and Sam had fidgeted uncomfortably.
“When anything happens to me I want you to promise me you’ll make sure that people wear bright colours, get drunk and laugh about the good times!” He’d whispered.
“Shhh! I am not going to talk about you dying!” She had hissed back at him, feeling rather cross.
“I’m just saying, I think it’s sad when people die and all, but you have to try to remember the happy times.” He had squeezed her hand and understanding what he meant she had squeezed his back.
Back in her new reality, the scent of flowers filled the white washed lounge of her cottage. Her cottage. Funny how in such a short space of time the plural had become singular.
Ryan had gone straight to the airport after the service. He had to get back to Cara and the baby. Mallory completely understood. She had insisted he go when he faltered at the door of the taxi that had come to collect him.
“I am only a phone call away, Mallory. I consider you my sister and I want you to feel able to pick up the phone if you need anything, okay?” Mallory had nodded and hugged him hard. She felt so guilty for not crying. As if he had read her mind he touched her cheek and said “You’ll cry when you’re ready, don’t feel bad.” Sweet, just like his brother, Mallory had thought.
Renee squeezed her shoulder. “Mallory, honey, you should rest” Mallory looked up into sad, bloodshot eyes. “You must be exhausted. You haven’t slept for such a long time and you need to keep your strength up.”
Keep it up for what? Mallory had wanted to ask it out loud but didn’t. It’s not as if I have anything to look forward to.
As if she had read her mind Renee continued, “Mallory, come on now, it may not feel like it right now, but you will get through this. We will all help you; you can’t get through this alone. When I lost my husband it felt like my world had come to an end, but it does get easier, honey. But you do need strength to get through this. Please go to bed and sleep.”
The mother of her precious Sam, who should be concentrating on her own grief, was selflessly helping Mallory through hers instead. She couldn’t be bothered to argue or to even speak for that matter so she let Renee lead her upstairs and she laid on the bed she had shared with Sam and drifted off into an uneasy, fitful sleep.
She awoke with a start to an empty bedroom, breathing heavily and sweating. She must have cried out because she heard footsteps bolting up the stairs.
Josie burst through the door. “Mallory?” She lurched toward her distressed friend and embraced her “Oh, Mallory, sweetheart.” She stroked her soothingly “You cried out his name, shhhhhh, it’s alright, shhhhh.” They embraced for what felt like an hour. But then again, time meant nothing anymore. After a while Josie broke away and said, “Do you want to come and eat something? Renee and Brad have made some food. You should’ve seen them, Mally, they were working together like a well-oiled machine those two.” She smiled and held Mallory’s face in her hands. “Come on, lovely, come downstairs and eat, eh?”
Josie, Brad and Renee sat at the dining table with Mallory. Brad and Renee had made sandwiches and had arranged a few other items on plates to try and tempt Mallory’s appetite to return. She hadn’t eaten properly for such a long time now and her weight was falling too rapidly. She tried to eat a little, but really couldn’t be bothered. She hadn’t really spoken to anyone. She simply couldn’t find her voice.
While Josie and Brad tidied up Renee went to lay down in her room. Mallory found herself sitting alone. Looking around her, she suddenly felt claustrophobic, as if the walls of her new home were closing in on her and she needed to get outside; to escape. She wanted to feel the cold air on her skin and to be out there, where she and Sam had made memories. Without another thought she opened the front door, tugging it past its sticking point and walked outside.
The air was cold on her bare arms but she didn’t care. It felt good to feel goose bumps prick her arms. In fact, it felt good to feel. She gulped the cold into her lungs and began walking. It was quite dusky out. She walked up onto the bridge and paused at the mid-point. She could hear Sam’s voice here. The wind was getting up and made the air even chillier. She looked out to the Atlantic. Sam had crossed that sea first to come to the UK and then a few more times with her by his side. He would never make that journey again.
She couldn’t bear to look at the view any longer and began walking again. As she walked her feet felt sore. She looked down and realised she hadn’t put shoes on. Her feet had been stocking clad but now the stockings had torn through. It didn’t stop her. She picked up her pace and began to jog; her jog became a run. She had no clue where she was going, but she kept on regardless. Eventually, she came to a stop and looked around her.
It had dropped quite dark by now. She wandered across some rocks and down to the water’s edge. She looked out into the distance past the spit and could see a boat with its light swaying in the wind. Suddenly, a wave of emotion took hold of her body and she let out a loud, angry scream. She screamed and screamed. A blood curdling noise filled with anguish and pain erupted from her body. She dropped to her knees and the tears finally came. The scream turned to a heart rending sob that shook her whole body to the core.
She hadn’t noticed the figure running across toward her from the water. Suddenly she was scooped up and wrapped in a large blanket, or was it a coat? She didn’t know and didn’t care. She had no clue who had picked her up, but it didn’t matter.
She must have passed out as she seemed to rouse back into consciousness as she felt herself being placed into a vehicle of some kind. The engine started and the heaters were turned up full. The welcome warmth began to melt her ice cold skin and she opened her eyes. She couldn’t see much. It was night time. The figure that had climbed into the driver’s seat flicked on the map-reading light.
“Here, take this,” the deep, Scottish accented male voice resonated through her. She looked up slightly to see a flask lid filled with steaming liquid “C’mon Yorkshire lassie, drink it. You need to get warm. You could’ve caught your death out there.”
“I don’t care.” She finally spoke without looking at his face. Her voice was frail and wavering.
“Aye that’s as maybe but there are plenty that do care. Now drink.” Mallory took the cup and warily took a sip. It was coffee but it had a kick that burned her throat and made her cough.
“You’re not a whiskey drinker I take it?” The voice spoke again. He sounded familiar but she hadn’t even looked up. He could be some axe wielding murderer, she thought. Then she reasoned, okay maybe there aren’t that many axe wielding murderers who rescue their victims from freezing beaches and then give them whiskey before they chop them into little bits. She looked up to see who the Good Samaritan was and gasped.
“You?” Was all she could muster.
“Well, I was me last time I checked, but then again I have been known to have a grumpy-arsed side too.” He smiled. They sat in silence for a few moments. “I didn’t catch your name Yorkshire Lassie but I’m Gregory. My friends call me Greg.”
“So you mostly get
called Gregory then on account of having no friends?” She replied snidely, immediately regretting her comment.
He held his chest as if he had just been shot, “Ouch, I think I deserved that, eh?” His eyes were warm. “So are you goin’ to tell me your name, Miss Yorkshire Lassie?” He asked.
“Please don’t call me that.” Tears stung her eyes and one escaped down her cheek.
“Okay, so tell me your name then?” His voice had softened.
“Mallory,” she informed him, wiping away the single tear with the back of her hand.
“After the mountaineer, eh?” She nodded; surprised that he didn’t need the explanation that most people did. There was a long pause. “Did he call you that?” He rubbed his nose, “The name Miss Yorkshire Lassie I mean. Is that what he called you?”
“A version of it, I suppose…Miss Yorkshire…that’s what he called me.” She smiled as she heard his voice in her head.
“Ah, I see. Sorry. If I had-a-known I would’ve called you something else.”
“What would you have called me? You didn’t know my name anyway.”
“Probably ‘Wee Crabbit Lassie’” His mouth curled up at one side so she knew he was jesting.
“And what does that mean?” Her eyes squinted at him suspiciously as she was fully aware that it was probably an insult.
“Ohhh…it means pretty and quiet.”
“It does not! I know you’re being mean. Tell me the truth,” she chastised.
“You sure? Okay, you asked for it. Wee as in little and crabbit as in bad tempered.” He visibly winced, as if he expected her to thump his arm.
“Huh, you can talk!”
“Aye, that’s true.”
Greg knew she was right. He hadn’t exactly made the best first impression to the village newcomer. He deserved all he got. He watched as she stared into the cup of steaming liquid and his heart ached. He understood her grief more than she could possibly know. He wanted to reach out and comfort her; tell her things would get easier. But what was the point? She clearly didn’t like him, so what would his words mean?
After a few moments he dared to speak again. “You alright now?” he asked his guest passenger.
She didn’t speak. She just shook her head slowly as the tears came again. She covered her face with one hand as her shoulders shuddered.
Greg removed the cup from her hand and he moved toward her sliding an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, c’mon, shhhhhh, you’ll be fine. Shhhh. It gets easier, I promise you that.”
He stroked her hair as she let more of the raw emotion spill out onto his denim jacket. He sat there comforting her for what felt like hours, just letting her cry, holding her tightly and fighting back his own tears of grief that had bubbled to the surface.
Finally, she raised her head as her tears subsided. He looked into her red, puffy eyes and saw the raw pain she was feeling. He reached up and almost touched her face to express his empathy, but he thought better of it and placed his hand on the steering wheel.
“C’mon, we’d better get ye home. They’ll all be wondering where you’ve got to.”
Greg put the vehicle into gear and released the handbrake. It was a gutsy vehicle. She noticed the Land Rover badge on the steering wheel. That figures she thought. Looking at his left hand she noticed the indentation where a wedding ring had once been. She wanted to ask him about his family and his wife, but decided to save those questions. She wasn’t sure she could digest any more information at the moment.
They pulled up outside the cottage and the front door opened immediately. Brad, Renee and Josie came running out. They shouted out in unison, some unable to hold their feelings.
“Mallory, thank fucking goodness!” Josie clapped her hands over her mouth when she received a disapproving glance from Renee.
“Oh thank, God, Mallory!” Renee exclaimed “We’ve been worried sick!” She pulled her cardigan around her shoulders to guard against the chill wind.
Greg appeared at the passenger side and opened the door. Mallory tried to get out of the vehicle.
“Whoa there lassie, you’ve nothin’ on your feet.” He scooped her up with ease and began to walk toward the door. Brad did not appear happy about this gallant action and quickly followed him inside.
“Who are you, pal?” He asked in a rather threatening manner, his broad Yorkshire accent becoming more evident in anger. “Why does she look like she’s been dragged through an ‘edge?” Brad clenched his fists at his sides.
Greg’s jaw clenched at the insinuations as he placed Mallory on the sofa.
“I found her on the beach sobbing her heart out, if you must know. She’s nothing on her feet and no coat. Have you any idea how cold it gets out there, pal?” Greg fronted up to Brad.
Mallory panicked at the sudden confrontation. “Whoa, hey! Knock it off, please!” She implored. “Brad…Greg came to my rescue when I went a bit crazy tonight, and Greg…Brad wasn’t responsible for my lack of appropriate clothing. I went out like this of my own accord. So can you please just back up and shake hands?”
It was the most she had spoken in a while. They all stared at her, open mouthed, as if a miracle had just occurred.
Greg nodded to the two ladies and held out his hand to Brad. “I’ll be going, now that I know you’re okay.”
Brad grasped his hand and shook it. “Look mate, why don’t you stay for a coffee or summat? Warm you up a bit? And thanks for helping Mal. She’s like my little sister and I would never forgive myself if she got hurt.”
Greg looked to Mallory for her consent. Mallory shrugged.
Greg sat beside Mallory on the sofa. The others busied themselves sorting coffee and Renee went to call Ryan to let him know Mallory had returned.
Greg nudged Mallory’s shoulder with his own, “See, you have people who care. Don’t go scaring ‘em like that again, okay?”
“When we were in your car, you said it gets easier…how do you know that? How can anyone say that?” She pleaded.
“Well, only those who’ve experienced loss and grief and have come out the other side can really know, I suppose.” He frowned, staring into the flames of the fire.
“You’ve been through this?” She asked gingerly.
“Aye,” he continued staring. His voice was clipped.
“Your wife?” she asked, remembering the indentation of the wedding band.
“Na. My…” He inhaled deeply. He rubbed his brow as if it hurt to think about it. She wanted to ask more; to find out whom he had lost. For her own sake admittedly, which was selfish, but she wanted to know how he had got through it, so she could at least start to try. But she didn’t. “Look, it’s late, I’d better go, I’ve got an early start the morrow. Got to pick Rhiannon up and I can’t be late. Tell your family I’m grateful for the offer of a drink, but I really should be off.” His voice cracked as he briskly walked to the door, pulled it open with ease and left.
Mallory stared at the door, a little bemused as to why he had gone in such a hurry. She had no clue who Rhiannon was, but she was clearly very demanding. Josie and Brad returned to the lounge with a tray and glanced around the room.
“Where’s Cutie McHunky gone?” Josie tried to lighten the mood. Brad elbowed her. “Ow!”
“I think I upset him,” Mallory admitted. “He said he’d been through this situation and so I asked about it,” Mallory’s bottom lip began to quiver, “then he left and I feel so awful.” The tears sprang from her eyes as guilt washed over her.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, don’t worry about him, you don’t even know him from Adam,” Josie soothed, “it’s you that you need to be concentrating on now.”
Mallory nodded, but deep down she knew there was more to what had just happened. He had been so caring; it was as if things were still raw for him. She regretted questioning him. She would have to apologise.
May 2011
In the few days that followed the cremation and her mini breakdown, new neighbours made themselves known to her.
Her tragic circumstances had spread around the village like a wild fire. She was touched by their condolences, offers of kind, reassuring words and help.
Colin and Christine, the proprietors at the village shop, stopped by with homemade carrot cake; Colin’s specialty they had told her. Ron from the pub came by to walk Ruby several times and the lady from a couple of doors down, who had lost her husband a year ago, called by with flowers, a card and an understanding hug. Mallory had shed tears at how wonderful these, to all intents and purposes, strangers were being. She felt sad that her welcome had been under such sad and painful circumstances. But they had welcomed her nonetheless.
Friday evening came around and Josie and Brad felt that Mallory really should get out of the cottage. They decided that a nice walk in the fresh air and then a couple of drinks at the pub was in order. Mallory took some convincing, but eventually she conceded and readied herself. Renee had agreed that Ruby should stay home and she was happy to doggy-sit.
Mallory pulled on a baggy sweater, jeans and a fleece. She scraped her hair into a low pony tail and slid her spectacles up her nose. When she examined her appearance in the bathroom mirror she was shocked at just how pale and drawn she had become. She lifted her glasses and dabbed on some under eye concealer to rid herself of the dark circles and rubbed a tinted lip balm onto her lips.
The walk was short, but helped clear some of the fuzz that had taken up residence in her head. They stopped at the midpoint of the bridge on their journey toward the pub. Mallory inhaled the cool sea air into her lungs and fought the tears that once again stung her eyes. Would she forever be plagued by this sinking feeling whenever she stood here, she wondered. Josie and Brad, who flanked her, enveloped her in a group hug. It felt good.
“C’mon guys,” she squeezed her friends’ shoulders. “To coin a well-known Josie Gardiner phrase…‘let’s go get rat arsed!’” this brought giggles and overly enthusiastic grins to her friends’ faces. They made their way toward the lights of the pub and its warm welcome.
Mallory stopped when she saw Greg leaning on the bar at one end; pint in hand. He wasn’t in his usual spot, grumpily serving the locals and visitors. He looked fidgety and rather nervous. He was wearing a dark blue shirt which had little pale blue flowers on it. It suited him, Mallory mused. He looked smart. Probably on a date, she deduced.
Bridge Over the Atlantic Page 8