Somewhere deep inside, I knew he was right. I had to let Grace know.
I swiped my phone screen and tapped on her name.
No answer.
I couldn’t tell her by text. I would try again tomorrow.
THE SOUND OF MY phone pierced my sleep and I fumbled around until I could answer her call.
But it wasn’t Grace.
“Noah, it’s Sister Philips. Celia. It’s your dad.” My insides froze. “He’s had a cardiac arrest. You need to come to the hospital. Quickly.” I hung up, not trusting my voice to reply, and threw on the clothes I’d taken off less than three hours earlier.
A doctor I didn’t recognise stopped me before I went into Dad’s room. “Mr Carter, I’m Dr Ahmed. I’m the duty consultant and—”
“How is he? I want to see him!”
Dr Ahmed restrained me. “He had a do not resuscitate order, Mr Carter. We have taken no remedial action.” Had? Had? My world fell in on itself when I heard the past tense. I knew words. I knew what it meant.
I looked up at the doctor, craving something, anything. “When?” Could I have been with him?
“He had suffered a myocardial infarction, a heart attack when we rang you. Unfortunately, as sometimes happens during such an event, he suffered a sudden cardiac arrest soon after. He passed about fifteen minutes ago.”
“Why? His heart was fine.” That’s what they had told me after his last scan.
“The cause was probably a blood clot. But we won’t know without—”
“No. No more tests. He’s had enough. I want to see him please.” I walked past him and closed the door behind me. The room was silent and dark without the blue tinge of the usual monitor screens.
It was peaceful.
He was peaceful.
The last thing I could give him was protecting that peace he had fought so hard for.
Moving the chair to my usual spot, I picked up Great Expectations and read to him, everything else having been said already. My eyes blurred and my voice wavered, but I continued until I reached those fateful words.
The End.
MAHOGANY OR OAK.
Brass or steel.
Burial or cremation.
Dad may have saved me from making that final decision about his life, but the next few days were filled with choices that seemed more significant than they should be. I racked my brain for clues as to what he would prefer. You’d think there would be a handbook for dealing with the logistics of death, a set of multiple choice questions that would make sense of the type of funeral your loved one would prefer. I was floundering enough to look for guidance online, but it wasn’t advice about the stages of grief I needed—it was a checklist of everything that needed to be done.
Thinking of the most spiritual times we had spent together, and his lack of regard for organised religion, I opted for a cremation, which also meant I could postpone the decision about what to do with his ashes. Bob helped me to contact his friends and former colleagues, and I planned a wake at the pub that he had frequented close to the newspaper offices.
Cards with meaningful yet meaningless words dropped through the letterbox every day. People sent me flowers as though an artfully arranged vase of lilies was going to make me feel better. Nothing could. Nothing should.
Looking through our photo albums one afternoon, I was trying to find the perfect picture of him to put on the order of service. Although I had gone through these albums so many times, certain pictures still had the power to bring me to tears, reminding me of what I had lost, then and now.
The familiar sound of Grace’s scooter pulling up disturbed the silence of my grief and I briefly thought about pretending I wasn’t in. She had tried to return my call several times, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer. Dad deserved every ounce of emotion I had. He deserved so much more than I had given him.
I opened the front door, aware that my emotions were on full display. “Hello.”
“Oh God, Noah,” she breathed before pulling me into her arms. “Bob rang me. I’m so fucking sorry.” It was the first time I’d had more than a manly clap on the back in weeks, and it undid me.
I cried.
I wept.
I grieved.
Grace sat on the sofa and held me until the shaking stopped. The warmth of her next to me, the scent of her skin, the rhythm of her breathing were all signs of life, of living. My mouth sought hers, craving anything she had to give.
She drew back carefully, creating a gap between us. “That’s not why I’m here,” she said, her voice strong and clear. “I’m here to be a friend, Noah. That’s what you need and that’s what I want to be. But that’s all.” My heart suffered its second loss. “I can remember how much there is to do from when I helped Mum sort Jake’s funeral. I want to help.” She inhaled deeply. “But I can’t do that again. I can’t let myself get hurt. So it’s this or nothing.”
But I love you. I miss you. You are the best thing that ever happened to my life. You are my worst mistake. I will do anything to have you love me again.
“I guess it’s this, then.” It was my only choice.
She helped me make the decisions that had threatened to overwhelm me. The photo she picked of Dad, aged about thirty, sat at his desk in front of an old-school typewriter, summed him up perfectly.
“I’ll pop into The Bell on my way home and confirm the menu for the wake,” she said, picking up her things. Home. Not here home.
“Thanks.” Please stay. Don’t leave me. I’m sorry. I’m falling apart without you.
“Do you want me to order a toast too? What was his favourite drink?”
Her insight surprised me, made me respect her even more. “I hadn’t thought about that. Thank you. Go for brandy. A decent one. Maybe two bottles? I suppose it depends on how many people turn up.”
She took my hand in hers. “Breathe. It’s fine. You don’t need to worry about details like that. Let me handle it.” Her hand slipped away, and I felt like I had been punched. “I’m off now. Ring if you need anything. If not, I’ll be back at ten tomorrow. Okay?”
I stood, uncertain as to whether I could reach out and touch her without begging her to change her mind. “Ten’s good. Thank you. For everything.”
She smiled and walked out.
True to her word, she arrived promptly the next day. I was ready and waiting, intent on staying strong in the face of another key decision that had to be made. I tried not to notice how the cool autumn air had brought a bloom to her skin or the way her knee boots emphasised the length of her legs, legs I wished were wrapped around me, showing me that I could feel something other than loss again.
“I have to be at work at one thirty,” she said as I made us both a drink. She told me all about her work in schools and enthusiasm poured off her in waves.
“I was wrong about uni,” I admitted.
“What do you mean?”
“When I said you shouldn’t have deferred your place. Look at how you’ve got your life sorted now. I’m proud of you.”
There was an awkward moment before she replied.
“Thank you. I’m proud of me too. But I know that I wouldn’t have made it this far without your support when I needed it most. You know what they say about a friend in need.” Her smile took away some of the pain at yet another mention of the friend word. “What’s on the agenda today?”
“I’d like some help picking out clothes for Dad. You know, for him to wear.” Stay strong. Stay strong.
Grace stood and put the mugs in the sink. “What were you thinking of?”
“A suit? He wore one most days to work. And he loved a posh tie.” That’s why the bibs used to upset him, a signifier of what the stroke had taken from him.
“Sounds like a plan. Come on, then.” The softness of her voice was calming, making me believe I could do this.
I followed her to his room but paused outside the closed door. “I’ve not been in yet.”
She took my hand in hers and looked at m
e, willing me to be stronger. “Ready?”
I squeezed her fingers and opened the door. My senses were overwhelmed with Dad, and I couldn’t step over the threshold. “I can’t. Can you go to the wardrobe? There should be a navy suit with a pinstripe lining in there.”
Leaving my hand empty, she did as I asked and found the suit I knew had been one of his favourites. “What colour shirt?”
“Pale blue. They’re hung on the other side.”
She flicked through them, pulling one out. “This one feels nice. Which tie?” She held up the rainbow of his tie rack.
I knew which it needed to be but had to check. “Hang on.” I went to the lounge to look at the picture of Dad taken at an awards ceremony where he’d been voted regional editor of the year. He had been so proud. I had been so proud.
Clutching the wooden frame in my hand, I went back to his room. “The pink and blue striped one.” Grace was sat on the floor next to his bed, tears streaming down her face. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I was trying to find some cufflinks,” she said, holding out her hands filled with pieces of paper.
“What are they?”
“You need to come and see. The drawer is filled with them.” She pointed to the open drawer in the bedside cabinet.
My feet crossed the line. When I reached her, I saw that each piece of paper was taken from a reporter’s notebook and folded in half. Taking one, she offered up to me. I read the words written in the shaky script I had so rarely seen.
I love you, Noah.
I took another.
You make me so proud.
And another. And another. And another. Until I was unable to read through my tears. Everything I wished he had been able to tell me was there, a true labour of love.
“Why? Why did he do this?” I imagined him crafting each word with the gritty determination that got him out of bed each morning, somehow ready to face a world that reminded him of his limitations. Those notes meant more than any gift he had given to me before.
“Maybe he wanted you to know.” Grace was carefully flattening each note into a tidy pile.
“But why didn’t he ever give them to me? Why leave them hidden in a drawer?” He wasn’t stupid. He would have known how much it would mean to me.
“Maybe he left them for you to find when you would need them the most.”
Oh, Dad.
I SAT WITH NOAH at the funeral, trying my hardest not to cry. I had been to too many funerals not to know when the emotions were at their highest and, at those times, I dug my nails into my palms to distract myself from feeling anything other than physical pain. I needed to get through it intact, for both our sakes. If this was the last thing I could do for Max, and for Noah, I was going to do it properly.
Noah was stoic. I could tell he was just going through the motions, but I wasn’t judging him. Nobody had any right to judge him. Look at what he had done to care for Max.
There had been one moment when I thought he might disintegrate. We walked into the crematorium, the same room I had said goodbye to Jake and Dad in, to see that the place was filled. People stood alongside each wall and crowded into every inch of space. The knowledge that his dad still had that much impact brought him to a stop. I watched as he braced his shoulders back and carried on walking, the tightened grip of my hand invisible to everyone else. He didn’t let go, anchoring us both with the weight of each other’s strength.
At the wake, I watched as he toured the room, making small talk and thanking people for their sympathy, their unspoken gratitude that it wasn’t their lives that had been shattered. At Noah’s request, Bob led the toast in celebration of Max’s life, which signalled the end of the day. It wasn’t long before it was Bob, his wife and us left.
“Can we give you a lift?” Bob’s wife asked, knowing we had been dropped off at the venue by the funeral car.
“I’m okay, thanks,” I said. “There’s a bus to my road that goes from the corner. You go, Noah.” I saw the look that passed between Bob and his wife. “Honestly.” I grabbed my coat and bag before turning to say goodbye to Noah. The look on his face devastated me.
“Please come home with me.” It was more emotion than he had shown all day and there was no way I could refuse him.
“Okay.” I followed him and sat in the back seat of Bob’s car, placing my bag between us. Part of me knew I was just delaying the inevitable moment of having to tell him goodbye, but I hoped that would be easier in private. I was wrong.
Bob and his wife left us outside Noah’s house after inviting us to dinner the following week and telling us to look after each other, all too willing to overlook the fact that we were no longer a couple. Noah opened the front door and took off his suit jacket and black tie before raking his hand through his neatly gelled hair.
“Thank God that’s over.” He went to the kitchen, clearly expecting me to follow, and I was surprised when he pulled a bottle of white wine out from the fridge. I sat on the stool opposite him and took a small sip at the glass he poured me, conscious that I had already had a drink at the pub and that alcohol was not going to make this conversation any easier.
“When are you planning on going back to work?”
“Not yet. I’ve still got a few weeks of the sabbatical.” His glass was already half empty.
“So what are you going to do? Have you thought about getting away? Maybe a holiday would do you good.”
He gave me a strange look. “It’s funny you should say that.” Swirling the wine in his glass, he was obviously building up the courage to tell me something. “I’ve been thinking about revisiting some of the places Dad and I went to, maybe scattering some of his ashes at the places that meant something special to him, to us.”
“Wow. That’s a great idea.” I reached across the table and took his hand. “I think Max would have liked that.”
Noah stroked the backs of my fingers, and I couldn’t pretend that it didn’t send electric frissons through me. “I want you to go with me.” I pulled my hand back and sat up straight. “Imagine it. Six weeks. We could start in Vietnam, travel through south China and India before coming back through Europe. Greece, Italy, France. There’s so much I want to show you.” His voice had taken on the same warm enthusiasm it used to have, making it even more difficult to say no.
“I can’t—”
“Hear me out,” he interrupted. “I know I fucked up, but I love you, Grace. I don’t want to spend another minute without you. You are my life now. Say yes. Say you’ll come with me. Please.” He was smiling, but the tears in his eyes told me his emotions were all over the place.
I got up and put some distance between us. “Noah, this is going to be as hard for me to say as it will be for you to hear, so please listen and don’t interrupt me.” He watched me intensely, but I was relieved not to see him move closer. “You’ve just gone through one of the worst things you will have to deal with. Ever. Now isn’t the time to be making big decisions. Don’t interrupt,” I warned as I saw him open his mouth. “Equally, I’ve got the trial in a few weeks and I need to give that everything I’ve got.
“You say I’m your life now but what if I don’t want to be? You’re not mine.” His intake of breath made me realise how callous my words sounded. “I don’t mean that you’re not a part of it, just that you’re not it. I’m creating this life for myself in a way I haven’t been able to do before. I love my job and my little flat. I feel like I actually have a life now and I can’t put it all on hold, or worse still, risk it, for you. Ironically, it’s you who taught me how much I have to do this, who made me believe that I could.”
His head was in his hands, shielding us both from seeing the truth in the other’s face. Stay strong. Stay strong.
“I think you should go to those places. You and your dad. Find peace.” I walked over and kissed the top of his bowed head. His arm reached around my waist, pulling me to him. I held him to my chest, imprinting the feel of his hair under my
fingers, memorising the shape of his neck, breathing in one last time the smell that was distinctively him.
“’Bye, Noah.” I walked away as the tremor of his sob rippled through me.
SOMEHOW, I SURVIVED those next few days. It had taken all my strength not to give Noah what he wanted, to stand firm for what I believed was right for both of us. But I had hurt my heart as much as his when I walked out.
Wake up, try not to think about Noah, work, repeat. Wake up, try even harder not to think about Noah, work, repeat. Wake up, think about Noah, work, repeat.
Repeat.
Repeat.
Even the welcome distraction of work couldn’t compete with the hours I spent thinking, remembering, regretting.
Neve: Hey! I’m home this weekend. Fancy meeting for coffee? x
Me: Sounds good. Where and when? I’m free all day Sunday.
Neve: 11? Cups and Saucers on Mill Street?
Me: See you there! xx
I knew what was behind Neve’s text. The following weekend would be the one-year anniversary since Jake died. In honour of his memory, I allowed myself an evening of looking through family photos and phone messages he had sent me. Huddled into my duvet, I cried at how much I missed having him in my life. He had been so much more than an older brother; he had been my friend, my protector.
Finally allowing myself to cry meant giving into the loss of Max too. Like Jake, I hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye, to tell him how much he meant to me, to let him know he would never be forgotten. Grief flooded every vein, fought against every heartbeat.
Sleep finally claimed me in the early hours, long after my tears had moved from Jake to Max to Noah.
Noah.
By the time Sunday arrived, my survival was in question and I was unsure if meeting Neve was a good idea, considering the already tenuous hold I had on my emotions.
Fault (Define Book 3) Page 19