The wind nips against my skin like hungry wolves at a carcass. I stormed out of the house in such a hurry I forgot to take my coat. It’s barely above freezing, and all I’m wearing is a pair of skinny jeans and a satin blouse. I wrap my arms around myself and rub my hands up and down my arms, trying to keep my shivering under control.
I look up at the sky, willing a little blue to peek out from behind the clouds, but all I see is thick grey rain clouds. The gloomy, miserable weather clones my mood to perfection.
I think about turning around and going home, but I quickly dismiss the option. My house doesn’t feel like home right now. I think about calling Kim. Glancing at my watch on my shaking wrist, I realise she’s still at work. I know she’d leave early if I asked her to, but that wouldn’t be fair. My only other choice is my mother. Her house is on the far side of town, but it’s within walking distance. The thought of calling her and asking her if I can pop over out of the blue makes me sick. Even if I plaster on my best fake smile, she’ll see straight through it, and she’ll worry. She always worries about me. Then I’ll feel guilty on top of everything else. It’s a vicious cycle, but right now, I have no reasonable alternative. I reach into my pocket, and I could cry when I realise I’ve left my phone on the kitchen table. I can’t contact anyone. I can’t even call a taxi, not that I could pay for one either. My handbag and wallet are at home too. All I have with me are the clothes I’m wearing and an agonizing headache.
I’m so caught up in myself that I barely notice the little old lady who walks past. She only catches my attention because she passes by so close to me that I can feel the warmth of her body for a split second. I watch as her tired frame, hunched like a question mark, shuffles along the footpath as she makes her way through the main gates. A plastic bag dangles from one of her hands, and she has a bunch of pretty, white lilies tied together with a blue ribbon in her other hand. I follow her. I don’t really know why. Something about her intrigues me. I wonder whose grave she is visiting. Her husband, perhaps. She walks with her head down, and from behind, she looks lonely and heartbroken. She looks like me, just much older. I bet she lived a long, happy life married to a wonderful man she loved with all her heart. I hope so anyway.
I keep my distance so as not to startle her, but I continue to follow her as she weaves in and out amongst the headstones. I find myself worried she’ll slip on the icy grass, but she seems to know every blade and stray pebble like the back of her hand. She finally comes to a stop at an unmarked grave. A new grave. Danny’s grave. The cold air wedges in my throat like an oesophagus-sized rock. I’d been so busy hoping she wouldn’t fall that I hadn’t noticed we were walking towards a familiar part of the graveyard.
Finally, the pain that I’ve tried to keep inside spills over in uncontrollable, salty tears. I don’t make a sound. My shoulders don’t heave, and my body doesn’t shake, but tears flow like raindrops in autumn. I miss my friend. I miss my husband. I miss my life. I am so alone.
The elderly lady bends down and places the lilies on the raised mound of earth. She wobbles on her hunkers as she roots in the plastic bag. She pulls out a flask, a teacup, and a packet of digestive biscuits. I’m pleased Danny has a friend. But I don’t remember seeing her at the funeral. Maybe she couldn’t make it or only found out about Danny’s passing later. It doesn’t matter, I decide. She’s here now. Danny has a friend aside from me, and she’s here now. That means she was probably at the station sometimes too or at his house. It means Danny wasn’t as lonely as I thought. Today has been horrific, one of the worst I can remember in a long time, but this little ray of light has lifted me. And I smile through my tears as I realise that even after he’s gone, Danny can still make me feel better.
I back away slowly. I want to allow the little old lady time to enjoy her tea undisturbed. But I’ve barely taken five paces backwards when she calls out.
‘Aren’t you going to come and say hello?’ she says without looking up.
I glance around. There’s no one else here, so she’s definitely talking to me. I cringe. She must have known I was following her the whole time.
‘Oh, come on now. Stop that,’ she scolds. ‘The cat got your tongue or something? Where are your manners? Come say hello.’
I clear my throat with a dry cough and take a large step forward.
‘Hello,’ I say.
‘Ah, that’s better,’ she replies.
She roots in her bag and pulls out a second teacup. ‘Tea?’
I shake my head.
‘Okay. Suit yourself. But it’s warm. And you look positively frozen, child.’
‘Okay then,’ I consent; the Deja vu of this tea-accepting ritual is making me both miserable and excited at the same time.
She nods and doesn’t bother to stand up as she reaches around for her flask and pours tea for me.
‘Here now,’ she says, lifting the cup over her wobbly head.
I scamper over to her and grab the cup before she scalds herself. I wonder if I should crouch down to her level or offer to help her up. It feels odd to be at such mixed heights.
‘You’re a friend of Danny’s,’ I say, finally making the decision to squat beside her.
‘No man should be alone in death. Just as no man should be alone in life,’ she says before biting into a digestive with a loud crunch.
I hope she’ll offer me one. I never got around to eating lunch earlier, and my stomach is pleading with me to feed it something.
‘Do you think Danny was lonely?’ I choke back more tears.
She shakes her head. ‘It’s not my place to judge.’
‘But he had me.’ I tap my fingers against my chest, accidentally jerking the cup in my other hand and spilling some tea over the edge. ‘And he had you. He must have had other friends too. I hate to think he was so lonely that he … that he …’
I stop and sniffle back some snot. I can’t bring myself to say the word suicide out loud, but I don’t have to. She says it for me.
‘I read about his death in the paper. He jumped, they said. How very sad.’
‘Oh God,’ I stutter. ‘I’m so sorry you had to read about Danny’s death in the paper. Did no one tell you?’
The lady puts down her teacup, and it falls to one side unsupported by the flaky clay.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers. ‘I think I’ve misled you. I didn’t know Daniel, sorry, Danny, when he was alive.’
My stomach knots, and my eyes narrow as I take in the look on her face. ‘Then why are you here? You’ve laid flowers and everything.’ My gaze drops to the pretty white lilies.
‘Because, like I said, no one should ever be that lonely. There are no other flowers here. I thought it would be nice to leave some.’
‘We weren’t supposed to leave flowers,’ I snap, defensively. ‘It said so in the text message I got when Danny died.’
The lady’s face scrunches, and she looks even older. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but her eyes are burning into me, and I suspect she’s judging me.
‘I got a text when Danny died. I’m not sure who from, really,’ I explain. ‘I thought it was someone in his family, but then I couldn’t find any family at the funeral.’
I stop abruptly and bow my head. I’ve no idea why I feel the need to defend myself to a perfect stranger.
The lady pulls a folded white tissue out of her coat pocket and passes it to me.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers. ‘The last thing I meant to do was upset you. I work here, at the graveyard, you see. Well, I volunteer. Just a little cleanup here and there. I pull up the odd weed, and I sweep the leaves off the paths. That sort of thing. Every now and then, I spot a lonely grave, and I leave flowers or maybe a candle. I certainly never meant to interfere or hurt anyone. I really am sorry.’
I dab under my eyes with the tissue and sniffle. ‘So you really aren’t Danny’s friend?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘I never had the pleasure of knowing him.’
‘But you brought tea
. And digestives.’ I point. ‘They were Danny’s favourite.’
‘Just a coincidence, I’m afraid.’ She sighs. ‘The hot tea keeps me warm inside on a day like today.’
My breath is jagged and laced with tears. I try to hide my disappointment, but I feel like she can see through me as clear as if I were made of glass.
‘But Danny sounds like a man with good taste. Digestives are my favourite too,’ she soothes.
I slug some tea, desperate for the warmth in my mouth.
‘Are you related?’ she asks after a brief, awkward silence.
‘Danny and I?’ I beam, realising that just saying his name makes me warmer than the tea ever could. ‘No. We were just friends. But Danny was like a father to me.’
The lady nods and munches on another biscuit.
‘My father died when I was a baby,’ I explain.
‘Oh, I’m very sorry,’ she says, her mouth full of mushy biscuit. ‘That must have been very hard for you. And for your mother.’
‘I don’t remember him,’ I confess. ‘My mother remarried when I was eight. We get on okay, I guess. But she’s closer to my younger sister, Lucy. Lucy, my mom, and my stepdad are a family. I’ve always been the spare part on the edge of that. Danny was the nearest thing to family I had. He helped me though a very hard time when I was young. He helped me a lot.’
I shake my head and cover my mouth with my hand. I’m desperate to stop my rambling. In spite of the freezing wind, I feel the heat in my cheeks as they flush with embarrassment. I’m usually painfully reserved, so I’ve no idea why I just blurted out my family sob story to a complete stranger.
‘Danny sounds like a wonderful man,’ she pacifies.
‘He was.’ I sigh.
She finally twists the open end of the biscuits towards me and shakes the packet as she offers me some. I grab one just as it falls out and devour it.
‘May I have another,’ I say, blushing.
‘Here, have them all,’ she says, passing me the packet. ‘You look like you need them.’
She takes my empty teacup from my other hand and tosses it gently into her plastic bag and begins to tidy away her flask and her own cup. I feel a sting of disappointment as I suspect she’s getting ready to leave.
‘You need to take care of yourself,’ she says, standing up and placing her hands on the small of her back as if it aches. ‘I know losing someone you care about is very hard, but it’s no reason to skip meals. You and that other girl look like you’re fading away.’
‘That other girl?’ I echo, standing up.
‘Yes,’ she says, concentrating on checking her little plastic bag and only offering me a fraction of her attention. ‘I thought you were sisters, at first. You’re both around the same age, I think. And you both look too skinny to be healthy – no offence.’
I shake my head. ‘None taken.’
Silence falls over us again, but this time, it’s more frustrating than awkward.
‘This girl,’ I pry shamelessly. ‘Does she visit Danny’s grave too?’
‘Yes. A lot. That’s why I assumed she was a daughter. She was even here in the middle of the night on Saturday, apparently. One of the Neighbourhood Watch men spotted her. Poor girl.’
‘That’s odd,’ I say. ‘To come to a graveyard in the middle of the night. I’d be scared.’
‘Of ghosts?’ she teases. ‘It’s not the dead you need to be afraid of; it’s the living that you need to watch out for.’
I scrunch my face. Her cliché rings a little too true with me now as I think of David and his boss making love all weekend.
‘Do you know her name?’ I ask, trying to block out the images of my husband that are coming to mind.
‘No. I tried introducing myself earlier this afternoon, but she literally ran away as soon as she heard my voice. I thought she was going to break her neck. She had a big floppy hood covering half her face. She couldn’t possibly see out properly under that thing. I don’t understand the way young people dress nowadays. Anyway, I hope I didn’t scare her off. I hope she comes back. I’ll try offering her tea next time.’
A big floppy hood, I think, remembering the girl in the church at the funeral. It must be her. I wonder who she is. Danny never mentioned anyone, but she must know him well. Otherwise, she wouldn’t visit his grave. I wish I knew her name or where to find her. It would be great to have someone to reach out to who knew Danny too. Maybe we could reminisce. I find myself growing pathetically excited about the possibility that someone out there knew Danny the way I did.
‘Anyway,’ she says, her quivering voice cutting across my daydreaming. ‘I’d best be on my way. You hang on to those biscuits and eat up. Maybe, I’ll see you again soon.’
‘Yeah, maybe. And thanks. For the biscuits. And for the tea. It was nice to meet you.’
I watch as she shuffles away; she’s even more hunched now than earlier, and I find myself genuinely hoping we meet again.
I wait until she’s completely out of view to allow myself to cry. I lean over the grave and gag on bubbles of my own spit and mucus. The raised mound of clay doesn’t look anything like a grave yet. It’s obvious at a glance that it’s freshly dug. Obvious that the body committed to the earth was a real person, alive and breathing just days ago, and now, it boils down to nothing more than dark brown soil piled loosely in the shape of a rectangle. If I didn’t know Danny’s coffin was buried here, if I hadn’t seen them lower the pine box into the ground with my own eyes, I wouldn’t believe he was down there. And even after seeing the coffin, I’m not sure I trust Danny was inside. Danny was just so full of life and love. People like that don’t die. Not suddenly. Not without saying goodbye.
It was a closed coffin at the church. There was no opportunity to lean over the side, kiss Danny’s forehead, and tell him I’ll miss him. There was no chance for one last look at his face. No time to make one last memory. Trains don’t leave pretty corpses.
Clouds of dark thought close in on the corners of my mind, like a sudden storm. I try to block them out, try to claw my way back to brightness, but I’m fighting a losing battle. I know to let the hurricane ride its course inside my head. Fighting will only leave me exhausted, and in the end, I’ll succumb to the power of my mind anyway.
I scurry backwards to the bench I’d caught out of the corner of my eye on the way in. My knees are beginning to give way, and I need to sit. The bench is dilapidated and in need of attention where the varnish has chipped, and the weeds are almost as tall as the four wooden legs they hug. The timber slats are damp and freezing, and I buck away a couple of times before committing my full weight to sit. The cold pierces through my jeans and burrows its way into my bones. But the icy bench is a calming contrast to my burning thoughts as my mind races. My breath catches in my throat as if it’s laced with glue. I’m an inferno on the inside, but outside, my body is cool and calm. That’s a first. Usually, when I lose it like this, I’m a complete mess all over. But anyone looking at me right now would have no idea of the torment going on inside my brain.
I think about Amber, and I shake my head. I’ve never met her. I only know what she looks like because of that photo I received of her and David cuddled together. I dry retch thinking of it. I hate that she looked pretty in it. And confident. She definitely looked self-assured. The total opposite of me. David said she’s not much older than we are, so thirty-five—maybe. She’s senior management, so obviously, she is as ambitious as she is attractive. Amber seems like the type of woman who could have whatever or, in this case, whoever she sets her mind to. Why the hell did she set her sights on a married man? Bitch.
My thoughts drift to the stupid troll getting their kicks out of tormenting me online. I don’t know what they look like. I don’t even know if they’re male or female or what age they are. Two strangers. Two intruders dare to wreak havoc on my life. Screw them, I decide, suddenly defiant. The fire inside me grows until even the tips of my fingers tremble and burn. And it takes me a moment to realis
e that what I’m feeling is different from usual. This fire isn’t guilt or self-disgust. I don’t burn with hatred for myself. I hate them.
I’ve hurt myself too often. I’ve damaged my flesh and my soul. Danny spent years piecing my fractured mind back together. Two strangers don’t get to tear me down again. I’ll be brave, and I’ll get through this. And I’ll do it for Danny. It’s then I realise; it’s time to go home.
Chapter Sixteen
AMBER
The sitting room couch feels lumpy beneath me. I’ve been sitting in the same spot for a couple of hours without moving. The same spot David slept in last night. I shudder just thinking about his restless, clammy body lying on my cream leather.
My thumb aches from repeatedly refreshing my Facebook newsfeed on my phone and scrolling through reams of text messages. I’ve a tonne of messages from the girls in the office. But I don’t have a single one from David. I thought he’d at least text to check if I’m okay. But he was a mess when I dropped him off at his place earlier, so I doubt he knows his arse from his elbow right now. There was no way he’d be able to hold it together in front of his wife. I suspect he’s crumbled and told her already.
I was surprised by how boring and normal David and Emma’s house seemed. A red brick, semi-detached, two-story in a tidy cul-de-sac. It’s nestled in a sleepy part of an old estate with mature trees, well-kept gardens, and kids running around on the green. It’s no doubt a tight-knit community of family homes. I bet their neighbours like them. I bet they are invited around for dinner parties and summer barbecues. I bet they know all their neighbours by their first names, and they wave to each other every morning. I snort as the bitter sting of jealousy hurts my head. But their neighbours don’t know them. Not really. Not the way I know them. Their neighbours only see what’s on the outside. They see what David and Emma want them to see. The picture-perfect couple. Young, newly married, and so in love. They don’t know what they’re capable of. They don’t know what Emma has done. But I do.
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