by Penny Dixon
‘Come on babes, be happy for me.’
‘How you want me to be happy when you leaving?’
‘I’m coming back babes. I have things to sort out.’
‘Is that the only reason you coming back Grant, because you have things to sort out?’
‘And to see you babes. You know that.’
I can see in her eyes she don’t believe me. For a twenty year old she have a lot of instinct. I feel bad leaving her like this but she’ll get over it. I’m going to pay the rent on the house till she can find somewhere else or can find someone to move in and share it with her. Is the least I can do after the way she help me. And, anyway, I need somewhere for Darron to stay till I can send for him. It might take a few days or even weeks. I know he have a school sort out but I have to make sure everything all right before I move him. He have a lot of changes in his life in a short space of time. I want to be sure about this one.
I’m packing when she phone.
‘Brilliant news,’ she say. Not just good but brilliant. She’s as excited as me. ‘When do you go?’
‘Tomorrow.’
I can hear the surprise in her voice. I’m so proud that I have something good to report. I have an answer for everything she ask. About Darron. About Mel. About the job. Everything.
‘When you coming?’ I hope she say next week. They putting us up in a hotel the first two weeks. I start picturing her waiting for me when I get home, my cock getting hard.
‘I need time.’
‘How much time? Babes, I’ve been wanting this so much. I can’t wait till we together again.’
‘Me too. I want to be with you too Grant.’ Is the sweetest words I hear in a long time.
She going to tell Richard about us. She going to fly out to see me, but she not sure what he will do. I tell her be careful. If she was leaving me I wouldn’t like it. I tell her I would fight for her, that I feel like I’m fighting for her now.
‘We can make it work babes. Come to me. Call me anytime.’
‘I love you, Grant, I want to be with you too.’ They are words to keep me going, to sleep on and take with me to Grand Cayman tomorrow.
There are two actions I’ll regret for life. The first one is the night I slapped Jeanette. The second is switching my phone off that night. If it was on I would’ve answered the call. She wouldn’t have to leave me a message that Richard dead. That she not coming to me.
I call. I text. I email. I facebook. Nothing. It’s like I don’t exist. I don’t know anything. I imagine all kinds of things. Did he try to stop her and she kill him? Was it a “him or me” situation? Was it an accident, a car crash? Natural causes, heart attack?
I leave for Grand Cayman with a heavy heart. When I tell Mel I’m going to miss her, I mean it. I could use a friend, a warm body to hold me at night. Hours ago I was expecting it to be Josi.
I get through the first week. The project’s running behind schedule. The work’s hard, the hours long. I’m grateful to be tired at night. I text and call every day. Even if she don’t answer, I want her to know I still love her, still thinking about her, even more than ever. When she cancel her facebook account I can’t look at her pictures. I rely on the ones I have on my phone, the ones I have in my head.
Darron move over. He settle in. Having another boy in the house good for him. I pay the rent on the house. Mel don’t find anybody to share. I think she hoping I’ll come back. I talk to her. She miss me. I miss her too but not in the same way. I tell Roxy I’m not going to marry Sophia. I get on better with Jeanette. I send her money for Marcie. She seem less stressed. Marcie seem less stressed, she don’t have another crisis yet. She agree to sign the divorce papers. There’s no rush. Nobody waiting to marry me. I find a house to rent. Derrick will be able to come in the holiday. I get promoted, get a regional position. I go to Barbados to price up a project there. I go to see Mel. We make love. I think of Josi. I think of Josi every day. I don’t text as often but I still text.
I find myself outside Celia’s apartment. I picture Josi on the veranda. The door open. Celia step out and turn to lock the door. I don’t think. I open the car door.
‘Celia.’
She look up surprised. It take her a second to recognize me. She can’t remember my name.
‘It’s Grant.’
‘Oh. Hi.’ She a little uneasy.
‘You have five minutes?’
‘I was just going out, I have a viewing.’
‘Please. Just five minutes.’
Maybe she see the desperation on my face, maybe it’s something else but she say, ‘OK, you’d better come in.’
Josi
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we’re about to descend into Grantley Adams Airport. Please fasten your seat belts and ensure your belongings are stowed securely in the overhead lockers or under your seats.’ I look out of the window at the turquoise water and imagine tiny flying fishes leaping a Mexican wave to welcome me back. It’s been a year. It feels like coming home.
So much has happened in the last year. Richard’s death dominated my life. I put my life on hold for the funeral and the inquest. I wrestled with so much that others couldn’t see. I accepted their sympathies and their condolences with a burden of guilt, knowing that I had been planning to leave him. Did he somehow pick that up? Did his soul know that he was losing me, that I’d made a decision not to be his soul mate anymore, that I had secretly joined forces with some other soul? After Sue left that night, I cried for all that was not to be.
In my tribute to him I described him as my best friend, my confidant, the person who had been there for me though thick and thin, my lover, my business adviser, my holiday companion. I didn’t realise how true this was till that day in the hospital when the officer asked me who to call. I could think of no one but him. When we got married so many short months ago I looked forward to many years with him. Now he’s gone and I have to live without him.
His parents were devastated. They’d always assumed they would go before him. His mother had the life sucked out of her. Like by offering him her energy he would come back to us. His dad rang me often to check if I was OK. I was the link with their son. There are no grandchildren. Their line is complete, ended sooner than he’d anticipated, like a film that ends abruptly, where the loose ends are not neatly tied off. The goodbyes have not been said.
The inquest revealed a catalogue of errors; flags not put out where they should have been; inexperienced members allowed unsupervised access to restricted areas, management issues which allowed this to happen. The club’s licence was revoked till proper systems were re-instigated and they were ordered to pay substantial compensation.
For the six months this took I made no attempt to communicate with Grant. I’d convinced myself that my affair with him was responsible for Richard’s death. Richard died the moment I agreed to leave him and join Grant. It was my own personal blanket of darkness that I wrapped myself in. I felt I didn’t deserve happiness as my actions had robbed Richard of his. He would never meet anyone who could make him happy.
I ignored all Grant’s calls, deleted his messages unread, disconnected my Facebook account, opened a new email account and gave the address to only a few people. I couldn’t work; my own issues were too overwhelming to help anyone else with theirs. I fell apart with the grief and the guilt. One day I got a call from Dr Patterson. There was something he wanted to discuss with me about Richard. I met him at his consulting room.
He said Richard’s dad had asked him to contact me. They were concerned about me; felt I wasn’t coping with Richard’s death. He offered me his services and I was grateful. He said from what he knew of Richard he did not feel he’d want me to lock myself away, to cut myself off from everyone.
‘He might if he knew that I’d been planning to leave him,’ I muttered into my coffee. There. It was out. The first time I’d told it to anyone.
‘How does that feel?’ he’d asked me. As if he knew it was the firs
t time.
‘Like I’ve put down some heavy shopping bags,’ I looked up at him.
‘And it’s up to you whether you pick them up again and carry them around or leave them there and learn how to walk without them.’
I stared at him, not knowing what to say. It felt wrong to leave them. It was good to have a rest but I couldn’t just walk away from them. My life was in those bags.
‘How about if I help you to sort out the things you want to keep and throw away the things you don’t need anymore?’ He’s good, i thought.
Over the next six months he helped me to sift through the good times, to pick out the tins of happiness and put them on the shelf, to finds the packets of joy and laughter and pack them out. I uncovered the parcels of love, the jars of friendship, the bottles of camaraderie, selflessness, sharing and displayed them openly. Next we rooted out the guilt, the fear, the blame, all recrimination and self-flagellation. Wrapped them up and deposited them in a large bin with a stout lid.
He was gentle where he needed to be and pressed when I appeared welded to my guilt. One day I realised I had a right to happiness. I finally understood my own rhetoric to clients, that you cannot make someone else happy by being unhappy yourself. I thought of my lecturer client and wondered what he’d decided to do. I sent him an email asking if he would mind a quick call. He responded immediately. We met for a coffee. He bounced to my table in the café, looking ten pounds lighter. I didn’t have to wait for him to tell me he’d left his wife and that things had turned out better than he’d originally imagined. It was written all over him.
He was sorry to hear of my husband’s death and wanted to thank me for the help I’d given him. Did I still have that plaque over my desk? I didn’t have the office any more but I still had the plaque. I thanked him for reminding me I needed to get it out of the box and put it up again. Was I working again now? He had a friend he’d like to refer to me. I told him I might take a holiday first, but I’d let him know as soon as I’d decided. He thanked me again, gave me a hug and bounced back to his new life.
When I got home I headed straight for the box. I sat staring at the plaque for five minutes before reaching for my phone. If I didn’t make the call, I’d never know. He answered on the first ring.
‘Hi Grant, it’s Josi.’
‘I know.’ I couldn’t work out what he was thinking.
‘How are you?’
‘Better now I hear from you.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘How about I love you?’
That was last week. He’s got a regional job and he’s in Barbados for two weeks, then he’s back in Grand Cayman for a month before going to a site in Jamaica. It’s going to be strange being in Barbados and not staying with Celia. Of course she knows I’m coming but Grant’s meeting me at the airport. I’ll catch up with them later.
I don’t know where this will lead, but the thought of him makes my heart pound and my palms sweat. As I walk through customs, I scan the crowd for him. Then I see them waving at me. Grant, Celia and Kenny. Celia’s the first to break rank and hugs and hugs me. Then it’s Kenny. Grant waits his turn. He steps forward. I slide into his arms. There’s only the two of us on the concourse as he kisses me. He smells of sunshine and tastes of love. When I finally catch my breath I look from one to the other.
‘How?… I didn’t know you guys were in touch.’
‘Who do you think kept him up to date with what was going on with you?’ Celia winks at Grant and they both laugh.