After I've Gone

by Linda Green

  Lee is striding towards her before I have even moved from the bed.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he shouts at her. I see her cower back against the balcony doors, plainly terrified.

  ‘Lee, stop it!’ I shout at him, jumping up from the bed and launching myself between them. The girl looks at me and back to Lee before making a run for it, tears streaming down her face. It is only then that I look up and see Lee’s face. His eyes are dark. Darker than I have ever seen them before, his brows knitted heavily across them. His breath is coming in short, sharp gasps.

  ‘What on earth were you doing?’ I ask, my voice as shaky as my legs.

  ‘Nothing,’ he replies.

  ‘What do you mean, nothing? You shouted at her. You scared the hell out of her.’

  He scared me too. He is scaring me right now, standing there motionless like that. He shuts his eyes. I hear a deep sigh as his hands go up to his head.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, OK? I lost it for a moment.’

  ‘She only dropped a tea tray, there was no need for any of that.’ My heart is still pounding. I don’t understand what just went on. It was not the Lee I know. It was such a complete overreaction.

  He walks over to the bed and sits down heavily on it, his head still in his hands.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says again. ‘I know I overreacted. It’s just that I want everything to be perfect for you. It felt like she was spoiling it.’

  ‘She could drop a three-course meal on the floor, for all I care – it wouldn’t matter. It was an accident. I drop things at work all the time. No one ever bawled me out like that.’

  He brings his hands down from his head and reaches out to me. I flinch. I can’t help myself. He is staring at me. The thing I can’t get out of my head, the thing that’s freaking me out, is that flicker of recognition in her eyes when she first saw him. She knows him. She must do. Why would she react like that otherwise?

  ‘Do you . . . have you ever seen her before?’ I ask.

  Lee looks up at me. ‘No,’ he says sharply.

  ‘But have you stayed here before?’

  ‘Look, I’ve said sorry. Let’s just leave it, shall we?’

  He stands up and goes into the bathroom. My hands are still shaking. She had seen him before, I’m pretty sure of it. But what I can’t understand is why she looked so scared when she saw him, and why he responded the way he did. When Lee comes out of the bathroom, I try to pluck up the courage to say something, but then there is another knock at the door and a uniformed man arrives with replacement cups and a dustpan and brush. He apologises profusely as he places the cups on the tray and sweeps up the broken crockery on the floor. As he goes to leave, Lee follows. I see him reach into the pocket of his jacket, which is hanging on the back of the door, and take out some money before slipping outside and speaking to him in a hushed voice. Lee is smiling when he comes back in. Acting as if nothing ever happened.

  ‘Right,’ he says. ‘Breakfast.’ He pushes the plunger down on the cafetière and pours the coffees, placing them on the bedside table before climbing back into bed with the plate of croissants.

  I am still sitting there, unable to move. Lee passes me the plate but I can’t even begin to think of eating at the moment.

  We are silent for a minute or two. I want to say something but I don’t want to upset him or make him feel like I don’t believe him.

  ‘Look,’ he says eventually. ‘The waiter said I reminded the girl of an ex-boyfriend. And not a very nice one at that. That’s why she freaked out when she saw me.’

  ‘So she’d never seen you before?’

  ‘No. She just thought she had.’

  I nod. I want to believe him. I really do. I want everything to go back to how it was before. I wish I could erase what I have just seen from my head, but it’s not that easy.

  ‘Why did you give the waiter money?’

  ‘To buy the girl some flowers. I would have done it myself but I don’t want to freak her out again.’

  I nod. Relieved that the Lee I thought I knew has reappeared. It must be like he said – all a big misunderstanding. I feel bad for doubting him. I pick up the croissant and take a bite.

  Lee strokes my arm, looking massively relieved. ‘So,’ he says. ‘Where do you want to go today?’

  *

  We go to St Mark’s Square. It wasn’t the first thing on my list – the gondola ride was, but somehow I don’t think it’s the right time for that. Besides, I want to be with people. Lots of other people. I want to hear their chatter and smell the coffee and be distracted by the busyness of it all. We find a table right in the centre of the square. The guide book I picked up at the airport said those ones are the most expensive, that it pays to go down one of the side streets off the square, but Lee doesn’t seem to care.

  He orders coffee and two slices of chocolate torte. A pigeon lands on our table and Lee shoos it away. He does it gently, mind. As if he doesn’t want to scare it too much. It’s hard to believe he is the same person who shouted at the girl a couple of hours ago. He reaches out across the table and takes my hand. The waiter returns with our coffees and tortes. Lee thanks him in Italian and squeezes my hand. Everything is fine. It was just some kind of blip. He really does want this holiday to be perfect, I can sense that. And I know what it’s like to want something so badly that it can make you behave weirdly. I should give him the benefit of the doubt. I let out a long, deep breath.

  ‘When we’re finished,’ I say. ‘Can we climb up the tower?’

  ‘We can do whatever you want,’ says Lee.

  *

  We don’t see the girl again for the rest of the week, even though we order breakfast in bed every day. I wonder if she is avoiding Lee on purpose. I remember once I saw Callum waiting to order food at the cinema, a few months after we’d split up, and I got Adrian to serve him instead (Adrian said I was well shot of him because he had bad skin which, apparently, is always a sign of poor character).

  It is the man who came in to clean up after her who brings us breakfast on our final morning. He puts the tray down in the usual place. I notice there is something extra on it; one of those silver domes with a handle that they put over food. I wonder if Lee has asked them to cook us something special for our final day. He goes over to tip the waiter before he leaves.

  ‘Right then,’ Lee says, as he returns. ‘Where would signorina like to eat her breakfast today?’

  ‘I’m still not going outside, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s freezing.’

  ‘Oh, come on. It’s the last chance we’ll have. I didn’t pay for a room with a balcony with canal views for nothing, did I?’

  ‘OK, I’ll do it. But it will have to be a quick one, before the coffee goes cold.’

  Lee smiles and opens the doors onto the balcony before picking up the tray and taking it out there. It is only when I follow him that I see the single red rose in a vase, a small bottle of champagne and two glasses on the table.

  ‘When did you do that?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, if you will spend ages in the bathroom, you might just miss something important.’

  I shake my head and smile at him.

  ‘Do take a seat,’ he says. I do as I am told. Lee goes to the other side of the table and lifts up the large silver dome. Underneath is a box. A small, red, square box. I look up at him, not quite daring to believe it. Lee smiles and picks up the box, going down on one knee on the balcony as he opens it and holds it out to me, revealing an engagement ring with a single diamond, perched on top of a twisted antique gold band.

  ‘Jess Mount, the craziest, most beautiful, sexiest, funniest woman I’ve ever met, will you marry me?’

  I stare at him. The tears come before any words do. Lee lifts up my chin and brushes one away. ‘It wasn’t that bad, was it?’

  I laugh and shake my
head.

  ‘Do I get an answer then?’ I don’t even hesitate. The biggest decision of my life and I know exactly what to say. Some people say they’ve seen their future written in the stars. I’ve seen mine on Facebook. It may not be quite as romantic, but at least when you know what’s coming, you have an answer ready.

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘The answer’s yes.’

  Lee lets out a little sigh, as if he is actually relieved. As if he had some element of doubt.

  ‘Why would I have said anything else?’ I ask, stroking his face.

  ‘I don’t know. I guess you can never be one hundred per cent sure.’

  ‘You do all this for me,’ I say, waving my hand across the table and back into our room, ‘and you actually thought I might have said no?’

  ‘I’m aware it’s a bit quick, that’s all. I thought you might be worried about what your dad will say.’

  I shake my head, and look out across the canal for a second so he can’t see the fresh round of tears. I still feel like a fraud. Perhaps I should tell him the truth, let him be the one to make the call once he knows what he is marrying. I can’t though, because I can’t risk losing him. I need him. Harrison needs a father.

  ‘When you know that someone is the one,’ I say as I turn back to him, ‘there’s no point waiting any longer.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘I can’t tell you how happy that makes me.’

  ‘Good. So can we go back inside now before this weather freezes my tits off?’

  Lee laughs. Only when you’ve put this on,’ he says, holding out the ring.

  ‘Go on, then,’ I say. ‘I’ll let you do the honours.’

  He slips it onto my finger. It’s a tiny bit big, but not so much that it will slip off.

  ‘I can always get it adjusted,’ he says.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I reply. ‘It’s better than fine. It’s perfect.’

  We go inside and drink the champagne in bed before having sex one last time. It is different this time. Slower, more tender. Deeper, somehow. And afterwards, as I lie next to him, gazing down at the ring, I realise that it is unstoppable now. This force propelling me towards my future. All I can do is buckle up and enjoy the ride, and hope that at some point before this perfect life of mine goes so horribly wrong, I work out where the hell the ejector button is.

  *

  It is later that morning, when I am doing a final check of my case while Lee is in the bathroom, that I find the note, folded up and pushed down the side next to my cream camisole. It has two words written on it, in shaky black lettering. ‘Be careful.’

  Jess

  July 2008

  I sit and stare at the woman opposite me. She is an educational psychologist called Paula. She seems nice enough, but I don’t want to be here with her. I am here because school referred me due to their ‘concerns’, and Dad said he thought it might help me. I shouted at him and said that the only thing that would help me was if Mum walked through the door and it had all been some horrible nightmare.

  Paula is talking, explaining how this is supposed to work. She is saying all the ‘right’ things, except they are not the right things for me. They are the things that do my head in. In a minute she’s going to start talking about the five stages of grief, as if that’s something I’ve never heard of. I want to shout at her that I am capable of using Google. I know that there is no time limit on grief, that everybody goes through it at a different pace. But it turns out that, in real life, it isn’t like that. People make their own minds up about whether you are doing it right, without even talking to you.

  Paula is looking at me now and I realise I am supposed to say something, although I have no idea what. So I just start talking.

  ‘Last Saturday,’ I say, ‘I was waiting for a train to Halifax and a guy on the platform took one look at me and said, “Cheer up, love. It might never happen.” So I said, “It has actually. My mum died of bowel cancer.” And it shut him up and he walked away without saying anything and I wish I could say that to everyone, or have it tattooed on my forehead or something, because then people would understand that bad things do happen and they can happen to anyone, at any time. I could walk home tonight and be run over by a bus. And cars sometimes mount pavements and hit people. There was a story in the newspaper about a man who died when that happened. The driver was changing the CD at the time.

  ‘People die in train crashes – not very often, but they do. They are usually the ones in the end carriages. I’ve learnt that from reading about the inquests. Just going to school or college or work can kill you.

  ‘One of my teachers is in hospital because she fell down the stairs and broke her back. No one tells you not to walk down the stairs, do they? No one says it’s dangerous and you’d better take care or get a fucking stairlift installed, even if you’re only in your twenties. Turns out everything is dangerous, even walking downstairs. You could be a hermit and not go out and you could still die falling down the stairs.

  ‘I don’t care about the people who die climbing Mount Everest or sailing across the Atlantic in some little rubber dinghy. They knew the risks and they still did it. They’re professional thrill seekers who get off on that stuff. They probably go bungee jumping in their spare time just for a laugh.

  ‘No, the people I feel sorry for are the ones who don’t do anything stupid. Who have a weird allergic reaction to a wasp sting and die from it. Who are standing in the wrong place when a sign falls down and kills them. Who are driving along when an idiot throws a brick off a motorway bridge.

  ‘But when I talk about stuff like this, people say I am being ridiculous. Actually, the ridiculous people are those who stick their fingers in their ears and pretend stuff like this never happens.

  ‘And before you say it, it’s not being morbid, OK? It’s just stuff that happens, but people don’t want to talk about it or even think about it because it scares them, so they make everyone around them put on a happy face and talk about nice things because that doesn’t feel so scary. Well, I’d rather be scared than stupid, and I think everyone else should be scared too. And if that makes me weird then that’s fine by me.’

  I look at Paula and she nods and writes something down. I wonder if she too thinks I’m not coping.

  Angela

  Sunday, 13 March 2016

  I have a feeling about it before they even arrive. I mean, Venice is such a romantic city, isn’t it? I have never been there – Simon wasn’t one for romance or culture – but from everything I’ve seen and heard, it’s the perfect place for it.

  Even by the way she holds herself when she gets out of Lee’s car, I can tell she is feeling special. She is not some silly little girl anymore – she’s a woman. And it shows.

  I try to keep my face together as I go to greet them at the door. To not look down at her left hand as soon as they walk in. But they are practically falling over themselves to tell me, they are so giddy with it.

  Lee takes her hand and holds it up for me to see. ‘We’ve got some news,’ he says.

  I let the excitement that has been bubbling under the surface break out as I hug Lee and Jess in turn.

  ‘Oh, that’s marvellous! Congratulations! I’m so pleased for you both. I had a feeling, you know, the last time you came. I didn’t think it would be long.’

  I look at Jess. Her hair is falling across her face as she looks up at Lee but I can still see how smitten she is. You can tell that a mile off.

  ‘Let’s have a proper look then, love,’ I say, holding my hand out for hers. I gasp as I see the ring. It really is that beautiful. Elegant and understated, but clearly not cheap.

  ‘It’s gorgeous,’ I say. ‘I’m glad he’s got such good taste.’

  ‘What do you mean? It was the only one they had under fifty quid,’ says Lee.

  We all laugh. I usher them into the kitchen.

  ‘I wish y
ou’d warned me, Lee. I’d have got some bubbly in for the occasion if I’d known. I’m afraid I’ve only got wine.’

  ‘That’s fine. We had champagne for breakfast yesterday, didn’t we?’ he says, turning to Jess.

  ‘Well, I’m glad you celebrated in style,’ I say. ‘Sit down and tell me all about it, then. Where did you propose?’

  ‘On the hotel balcony.’

  ‘I’d have thought you’d have done it in a gondola,’ I say, looking at Lee.

  ‘No, it’s a bit cheesy, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Yeah. I didn’t want to do one of those touristy proposals people post online. I wanted it to be personal. Besides, it’s not easy to go down on one knee in a gondola.’

  ‘He did take you for a ride on one, though, didn’t he?’ I ask Jess.

  ‘Oh yeah. The gondolier was really funny, kept pulling weird faces. I’m glad Lee didn’t ask me there, to be honest. I don’t think I could have taken it seriously.’

  ‘And you did go down on one knee?’ I ask Lee.

  ‘Of course. It was all legit and above board.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. We can’t have Jess thinking she’s marrying into a family that doesn’t do things properly. Let’s see the photos then.’

  ‘What of?’ asks Lee.

  ‘The holiday, you daft thing.’

  ‘They’re all on my camera back at my place.’

  ‘This is the trouble with our Lee not being on Facebook,’ I say to Jess. ‘I’ll never get to see those photos, you know. Why he can’t just take them on his mobile and share them like everyone else, I don’t know.’

  ‘Because I don’t want everyone else seeing them,’ says Lee.