by Linda Green
‘Are you sure you’ve got everything?’ he asks.
‘Yeah. I think so.’
‘Passport?’
I groan, run back upstairs and rifle around in the chest of drawers until I find it.
‘Thanks,’ I say, when I return downstairs. ‘Saved my life there.’ I realise what I’ve said as soon as the words are out of my mouth and have to bite my lip hard.
‘Look,’ he says, getting to his feet, ‘I’m sorry if I went off on one. I worry about you.’
‘I know. But you have to let go a bit now, let me live my life.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Do I have permission to enjoy myself?’
‘Of course you do.’
‘Good. Because I intend to.’
‘As long as you give me permission to worry. Because I will do, whether you like it or not.’
‘I’ll be fine. I’ll be having the time of my life.’
Dad nods and steps forward. I know he is going to hug me and I have to try really hard to get that image of him crying at my funeral out of my head.
‘Text me when you get there,’ he says. The hug arrives on cue. I suck my breath in hard in an effort to stop the whimper that’s threatening to emerge.
‘I’d better get going,’ I say.
‘Sure. Let me carry your case out and meet this young man of yours.’
I hesitate. I don’t really want to spoil the magic by letting him intrude on it right now. But I also know that I don’t want to go off on holiday with an atmosphere hanging over us.
‘OK,’ I say. I follow Dad outside. Lee gets out of the car when he sees us and steps forward.
‘Hi, Mr Mount,’ he says, offering his hand. ‘I’m Lee. Pleased to meet you.’
Dad shakes it firmly. ‘And you. But call me Joe, please.’
‘Sure.’
We stand awkwardly on the pavement for a moment.
‘Good choice to go to Italy, anyway,’ says Dad.
‘You can’t go wrong there, can you? Whereabouts are your family?’
‘In the south, near Naples. We get over to see them when we can.’
The truth is that we used to stay with them for most of the summer holidays when I was younger, but the summer after Mum died I wasn’t able to get on the plane and we’ve only been twice since. Partly because it’s such a hassle to get there and back by train.
I look at Dad. I can tell from his face that he’s suddenly remembered about the flying too.
‘Will you be OK with the—’
‘Yeah. Fine,’ I say quickly. ‘We’d better be off.’
‘Right,’ says Dad. ‘Well, have a great time, both of you.’
‘We will,’ says Lee. ‘And don’t worry, I intend to take very good care of your daughter.’
Dad nods, seemingly reassured. We get into the car and Lee starts the engine. I wave at Dad as we pull away.
‘He seems like a lovely guy,’ says Lee.
‘Yeah, he is. And you do a very good line in impressing a girl’s father. I think he liked you.’
‘That’s because I didn’t tell him the bit about planning to ravish you every day.’
‘Probably a good move.’
‘I will show you the sights too,’ he says. ‘In between all that.’
‘I should hope so. We can’t go home without any photos. People will know what we’ve been up to.’
My phone beeps. It’s a text from Dad.
I like him. I think your mum would too. Have a great time. Love you xx
He always does that – puts a kiss from both of them, as if Mum is still here. I look out of the window as a single tear falls down my cheek.
PRIVATE MESSAGE
Joe Mount
4/09/2017 7:11am
I went to your grave last night. I went with a shovel because I had decided I couldn’t bear it any longer and I was going to dig you up so I could be with you again. It was crazy, I know that. But, as you told me once, when you’re in love you do crazy things. And I am still in love with you, Jess. I have been in love with you ever since I first heard your heartbeat through the midwife’s stethoscope. Since I first felt you kick my hand through your mum’s tummy. Since the second you came out, screaming your heart out, and I had to catch my breath because I knew at that second that you would always be the most important thing in my life.
So I took the shovel. You probably don’t even remember I had one. I kept it in the tool shed in the backyard. I used it for clearing snow more than anything else. I can’t remember ever actually digging with it, but I always felt a man should have a shovel.
I took it with me in the car. And when I got there I took it down to your grave with me. Only then did it first occur to me that it was a crazy thing to do. It was dark, two in the morning (I don’t sleep very well these days), so I didn’t have to worry about there being anyone else around, not even dog walkers at that time. And I just stood there, my foot on the top of the shovel, poised for action. I did at least manage to break the surface, and I dug like a man possessed for a few minutes, but then I realised I couldn’t do it. I didn’t want to hurt you, Jess. I got you one of those biodegradable willow coffins because you always liked the trees, and it suddenly occurred to me that if I did manage to dig that far down, my spade might go through it. It might have rotted away by now, in which case there would be nothing to protect you. Or maybe it would be so soft that my shovel would go right through it. And I couldn’t bring myself to hurt you, Jess. I couldn’t risk that, however much I wanted to bring you back, to be near to you again.
I dropped the shovel and fell into a crumpled heap on the ground and sobbed. Sobbed like I’ve never sobbed before, not even at your funeral. Because I miss you, Jess. More than you can ever believe. And it finally sunk in, at that moment, that I can never get you back. It hurt when your mother died. It hurt like crazy. But I got through it because of you. But now I don’t have you, there doesn’t really seem any point. It’s like I’m grieving for both of you. So I sat there between your two graves and talked to you. Talked about every single thing I could remember about you. I was still there at dawn. And still there when the first of the dog walkers turned up. A cocker spaniel ran up to me and licked my face.
The owner came over and apologised. He asked me if I was OK. He probably thought I was bloody dangerous, sitting in a graveyard at seven in the morning with a spade. And I just looked at him and nodded. He nodded back, even though he could see I wasn’t, and walked on, calling the dog to follow him.
And I came home, Jess. And I put the spade back in the tool shed. And I’ll probably never use it again. Not even to clear snow. Because every time I look at it I will think of you. And how I will never be able to see you again.
Jess
Saturday, 5 March 2016
I stand in a toilet cubicle at Leeds Bradford Airport, tears streaming down my face as I read Dad’s post. My dad. The sane, sensible one who has never done anything crazy in his life. Only now he is taking a spade out in the middle of the night to try to dig me up. My death is clearly sending him round the bend. He’ll probably end up having a breakdown. I mean, it’s more than anyone can take, isn’t it? Your wife dying and then your daughter. And he’s got no one left to talk to. He hasn’t got any friends. Not what I’d call friends, anyway. Only man friends, which means they’re just guys he works with. He doesn’t go out with any of them, he doesn’t call any of them. The only person he has left in his life is Harrison, and he’s not much use to talk to. And I’m not sure how much he even sees him if Lee and Angela are taking care of him. The thought of Angela bringing up my son makes me feel uncomfortable. It isn’t the life I want for him. But if I’m not around, I don’t suppose there’s much I can do about it.
I shake my head and put my phone away. I can’t deal with this now. Lee is waiting outside, pr
obably wondering what the hell I’m doing in here. I blow my nose on the loo roll, wipe my eyes and step outside. The reflection that greets me in the mirrors above the sinks is not a good one.
I was stupid to check Facebook before the flight. So incredibly stupid. My boyfriend is about to whisk me off on the holiday of a lifetime and I’m now standing in the bogs looking a complete mess. I splash water over my eyes, get my make-up bag out and attempt a quick repair job.
When I arrive back outside, Lee is leaning against the wall.
‘Hi,’ he says, looking up. ‘Everything OK?’
The question suggests that he suspects not.
‘Yeah, fine thanks. Just doing some deep breathing. I haven’t flown for a while. I get a bit nervous before take-off.’
It sounds better that way. I mean, plenty of people are nervous flyers. It’s not a big deal.
‘Hey. You should have said before,’ he says, wrapping his arms around me. ‘I’ll hold your hand all the way. And it’s a quick flight. You’ll be there before you know it. There is one stop in Amsterdam, though.’
He kisses me on the forehead. I hadn’t realised it wasn’t a direct flight. My stomach clenches again. I ball my hands up so he can’t see my fingers shaking.
‘I’ll be fine once we’re in the air. It’s the take-offs and landings I’m not keen on.’
‘Well, I shall do my best to distract you during both.’
He takes my hand and leads me over to the departure lounge. Our luggage has already been checked in. The other people are mainly older couples, maybe trying to rekindle a bit of romance with a trip to one of the most romantic cities in the world. I catch a few sideways glances from the women. Mum told me once that you never stop fancying younger guys when you get older, but you can get away with looking because you know they aren’t going to be checking you out.
I squeeze Lee’s hand and lean in to his body. If David Attenborough were narrating, he’d say something about the female letting everyone know that the male is taken and not to come any nearer.
‘It’s going to be fine,’ Lee whispers into my ear. And I believe him.
*
It is fine, too. Not brilliant, but OK. I think I behave like any other nervous flyer, rather than a woman who is in danger of completely losing it. And the thing I think of to stop myself freaking out is Harrison. I know I’m not going to die on this flight, because if I did, Harrison would not exist. And he does exist. I have seen photos of him. So I am able to convince myself I must make it to Venice and back safely.
And Lee does his bit by kissing me during take-offs and landings as promised. I am pretty sure other people look and mutter about it, but I don’t give a toss.
I let out a long sigh as I unbuckle my seat belt.
‘It wasn’t too bad, was it?’ asks Lee.
‘No, thanks to you.’
‘I can cancel the flight back and we’ll go home by train, if you’d rather.’
‘Don’t be daft. I’ll be fine.’
‘Good. I don’t want you worrying about it, that’s all. I want you to enjoy every second of the holiday.’
‘I will. I promise.’
*
We get a water bus from the airport. An orange line one. Lee seems to know exactly where we are going without asking or stopping to look at maps. He must have been here before and I can’t help wondering who with. Obviously there will have been girlfriends before me. Plenty, I would imagine. You don’t look like that and end up going on holiday on your own. I wonder how many of them he brought to Venice. Because as much as I’d like to think I am the first, I am not stupid enough to believe it.
I sit nearest the window and gaze out at the old buildings lining the canal. Lee drapes his arm around my shoulder.
‘So this is the Grand Canal. It’s a bit shabby here but it’ll get better as we head towards the centre.’
‘Well, it beats the outskirts of Leeds on a Monday morning. How many times have you been here?’
‘Oh God. Quite a few. It’s one of my favourite places.’
Maybe he’s brought every girlfriend he’s ever had here. It could be some kind of initiation test, like when Richard Gere takes Julia Roberts to the opera in Pretty Woman. Maybe I’m supposed to say something about the architecture or the history. Or maybe, like in the film, it’s enough just to appreciate it as a first-timer.
‘I love it already.’
‘Good. And we’re going to do the whole works while we’re here. No expense spared.’
I smile up at him and rest my head on his shoulder. I suppose, if I really am going to die, I should at least give thanks that I will die happy.
*
‘Next stop’s ours,’ says Lee after a while. He picks up our cases and gives me his hand as I step off the water bus, unable to suppress a shiver.
‘First thing we’ll do is buy you a proper coat,’ Lee says. ‘I told you it would be chilly.’
‘I know. I just didn’t think it would be colder than Leeds.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘The hotel’s only five minutes’ walk away.’
He leads me along the street; we take a left, then cross a small bridge before turning right.
‘There you go,’ says Lee, pointing across the street. A uniformed doorman greets us in Italian and calls a porter to take our cases. I hear Lee tell him we’re in the junior suite before I follow him through into the reception. There is a grand piano there. A fucking grand piano. Talk about being out of my depth. It’s all I can do to stop my mouth gaping open.
My boots squeak slightly on the marble floor. I look across at Lee; he smiles and takes my hand. ‘Wait till you see the room,’ he whispers.
The woman on reception smiles at us and Lee gives her his name. A few moments later, the porter returns to take us up a flight of stairs, and then opens a wooden door. Lee holds his arm out for me to go first. I step inside. The first thing I see is a huge, round bed in the middle of the room, draped in white sheets and with gold cushions scattered on it and a low, red lampshade above it. The ceiling has dark wooden beams. The wall behind the bed is painted a mottled gold with empty gold picture frames dotted over it. Across the other side of the marbled floor are ornate glass and gold doors leading onto a terrace overlooking the canal.
‘Oh my God,’ I whisper. ‘Is this for real?’
‘Yep. Your home for a week.’
‘Wow. I’d have been happy with a Travelodge.’
‘Well, you deserve better than that.’ Lee smiles. ‘Besides, if you’re going to do Venice for the first time, you have to do it in style.’
The porter leaves, though not before Lee has tipped him.
I notice the iPad on the desk. ‘If this were Leeds, someone would nick that in the first five minutes,’ I say.
‘They do have my address, remember,’ Lee replies. ‘Anyway, you won’t be needing that this week. It’s a computer- and phone-free holiday, remember?’
He’d told me on the plane that that was his only rule for holidays. I’d agreed. I’d been quite relieved, to be honest.
‘Yeah. I’ve turned mine off already.’
‘Good.’ Lee sits down on the bed and pats it. ‘Come on. Time to unwind.’
‘You said you were going to show me the sights.’
‘Not on the first afternoon, I didn’t.’
I smile and sit down on the bed next to him. He takes hold of my left boot and pulls it off, followed by the right, and starts kissing me.
‘I’ve never done it on a circular bed,’ I whisper. ‘I’ll probably fall off.’
‘Well, if you do, I’ll be going down with you.’ He kisses my neck and starts unbuttoning my shirt. He has that intensity in his eyes again. He always looks at me like that when we are about to have sex. I don’t care whether he looked at other girlfriends in the same way. Maybe even o
ther girlfriends who he brought here. All I care about is that, in the short time I am going to be with him, he never stops looking at me like that.
He slips the shirt off my shoulders and bends to kiss my belly, his hand rubbing between my legs. I raise my hips and let him peel off my leggings. He pulls at the top of my thong with his teeth. I laugh and help him ease it down. I go to pull up his T-shirt but he shakes his head.
‘Not so fast,’ he says. ‘I haven’t finished looking at you yet.’ He sits me up enough to unclasp my bra, then tosses it onto the floor before laying me back down again and parting my legs. He walks around the bed as he takes his T-shirt off and removes his trousers and boxer shorts.
‘Make yourself come,’ he whispers.
I am unsure at first but move my hand down and do as he says, conscious of his eyes boring into me as he watches. He continues to circle me, encouraging me, waiting until I am moaning out loud with my eyes screwed shut before finally joining me on the bed.
‘You are so fucking hot,’ he says as he straddles me. ‘My turn now.’
*
Afterwards, when we are lying on the bed, our bodies stuck together with sweat, I feel a single tear escape from the corner of my eye onto his shoulder.
‘Hey, what’s up?’ he asks.
‘Nothing,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘Just a bit emotional.’
‘Good, because I love you.’
I swallow hard, trying to hold back the rest of the tears, which are already rushing towards the surface. I have been waiting for him to say that. Even though I know I am going to marry him and have his baby, I still needed to hear it.
‘I love you too.’
‘That’s OK, then,’ he replies. ‘We’re all square.’
*
Lee orders breakfast to our room when we’re finally ready to get up the next morning. We have both freshened up in the bathroom and put on the robes provided by the time there is a gentle knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ Lee calls. I am sitting on the edge of the bed as the young woman walks in. She has dark hair tied back in a ponytail and pretty rosebud lips. She is carrying a brass tray laden with a cafetière, cups and saucers and a selection of croissants. She keeps her eyes down, goes straight to the table and is about to put the tray down when I see her glance across at Lee. Her eyes widen, there is a sharp intake of breath and she drops one side of the tray. The cups fall off and smash onto the floor. I hear her mutter something in Italian, swiftly followed by ‘So sorry’ in English.