The Lost Wife: An uplifting page-turner about grief, love and friendship

by Mansell, Anna

Gently resting the photos and pictures on the back seat of the car, I layer them with coats to stop glass from breaking until I know where they will be hung next.

  Looking back up to the house, the air grows heavy. The lightness of a late-spring blue sky has gone. It’s time to leave. It’s time to put a key in the back garden, hidden from view. A solicitor can pick it up. A removal firm can put the rest of the house in storage for me. An estate agent can get it on the market so I don’t need to come back.

  I’ll take the last few bits from her wardrobe. The boxes. Then I’m done.

  Adrenaline depleting, I’m out of breath by the time I make it upstairs to the bedroom, bracing myself for the scent of Ellie as I open the wardrobe door. I take a deep breath, desperate to imprint the notes of red roses, freesia and tobacco flower from her favourite perfume. I run my hand along the line of clothes, recalling the times she wore a dress or a suit from the collection before me. Floyd weaves between my legs; is he aware something is happening? I kneel and he rubs against my leg before dramatically throwing himself on the floor, purring, inviting me to rub his belly. He is as much a part of her as these clothes, as these memory boxes. I pull the latest one forward, lifting it out. An open envelope behind falls free, spilling its contents onto the floor.

  And my heart stops.

  My body stiffens. Slowly, I reach out.

  No. No. Please, God, no. This can’t be, this isn’t… sickness returns, thick in the back of my throat. I sweat and shiver in equal measure at the sight of a home test DNA kit.

  Someone cries out, shouts. A sound so animalistic, so guttural, that I don’t realise at first that the someone is me, in pain, hurting, my chest tight and my heart piercing. It’s a pain that knocks me from my knees to the ground, dissolving me into the floor, the DNA test resting in the palm of my hand.

  Thirty-Eight

  Rachel

  It was gone seven in the evening by the time I decided to take Oli to his house. There was no answer from Ed on the home number, nothing on his mobile. Everyone else had left work and I was sat in the semi-darkness of Vicky’s office, waiting. I’d tried the other number we had for Oli – Ed’s mother, I think. There was no answer from that either and I suppose I felt I had no choice but to be proactive.

  I stuck a note onto the nursery’s front door to tell Ed where I was, just in case he came by. I sent him a text message to let him know I’d see him at his, just in case. I left a message on his answering machine at home, again, just in case.

  So, to see his car outside his house as I pull up is perplexing. Worrying. More so is the open door to his home. I search for signs of something awful, though I don’t really know what signs I should be looking for, or what might have happened, I just know that something feels wrong. Something feels major. I scan the house, and up and down the road, then over to Ed’s car as I fumble to release Oli from the back seat of mine. His car seat bumps against my legs as I half jog, half walk, wait, then jog again, up the path.

  The sound of my knocking on the open door echoes into the hallway. ‘Ed?’ I call out, stepping inside, fearfully looking through doors. ‘Ed, are you here?’ I call again, checking the lounge and kitchen. The signs he’s been here are all over: papers strewn, pictures removed, bits of washing falling from the machine, and there are piles of discarded coats on the floor of the downstairs loo. It’s as though the house has been burgled except that the TV remains, as does the radio, and Ed’s keys are on the side.

  Oli’s car seat rocks on the dining table as I unbuckle him and scoop him up. ‘Shall we see if Daddy’s upstairs,’ I coo, my voice peppered with nerves. ‘Come on, baby. Come on,’ I say, pulling him in close.

  When I get upstairs, I see Ed’s bedroom door is open. I pull Oli in closer to me as I take slow steps that reveal Ed’s feet first, then the rest of his body, leaning against the bed. Seeing the shallow rise and fall of his chest gives me relief, and I search for breath from my own empty lungs. ‘Ed?’ I whisper gently.

  His eyes stare into the distance; he doesn’t seem to hear me, or notice I’m there, even. I carefully step forward, desperate not to startle him.

  ‘Ed, what’s happened?’

  But I don’t need to ask again; the DNA test rests in his hands. He blinks, slowly.

  ‘Oh, Ed.’ I move to crouch beside him with Oli still in my arms. ‘You found it, but it doesn’t mean… Ed, just because she had this doesn’t mean…’ His eyes flick up towards me. ‘You have to believe in her, Ed. You have to be strong, for Oli. Look, I brought him, I was worried.’

  I pass Oli to Ed, who vacantly takes him from me, sitting him out before him as if he’s never held a child before. As if he doesn’t know who Oli is. Oli wriggles, letting out a gentle cry for his dad. Reaching tiny arms and fingers for his dad’s arms, pulling at the skin, gently, for his attention.

  ‘Ed, I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t know what to say. And it proves nothing, Ed. It’s just stuff. Who knows why she had it, but Oli is yours. I just know it. Look at him, Ed.’ He shifts his eyes to look at me, but it’s like he doesn’t really see me. ‘Look at him,’ I repeat.

  ‘You knew it?’ he says, his voice breaking.

  I swallow. Wishing with every single fibre of my being that I could say no, but I nod, slowly.

  ‘How?’ he asks, his eyes now focusing fully, recognising that it’s me sat beside him. I look down, wishing I knew how to answer. ‘HOW?’ he pushes.

  I sit back, clutching my knees to my chest. ‘That night, when you went to see Simon, I just…’ I meet his eyes, certain that I must at least give him the respect of my focus. ‘Something wasn’t right, Ed. Something about it all. You had questions… I just couldn’t believe it. I wanted… I wanted to help. And I can’t believe that I would abuse your trust like that. I can’t forgive myself for it, but I don’t know, I was confused. I was…’

  I look away now, realising I can’t admit why I was looking. Or where my feelings went from that day onwards. Or that now, sitting here before him, watching him hurt all over again, I just want to pull him into my arms and hold him until he gets his strength back. I can’t admit to the fact that I am falling completely and entirely in love with a man who stares back at me with disgust in his eyes.

  ‘Leave,’ he says, his feelings made clear.

  ‘Ed, please. Let me explain, let me—’

  ‘GO!’

  Tears sting at the back of my eyes, my throat suddenly red raw. ‘I’m so sorry, Ed. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean anything.’ Oli starts crying, still held out from Ed’s body. ‘He needs you, Ed. You are his father, he needs you… please.’ I push Ed’s hands, holding Oli, closer to his chest. ‘Don’t push him away,’ I insist, standing. ‘No matter what the truth, Ed, Oli is your son. You need each other.’ I step back out of the room. ‘And I am so very, very sorry.’

  ‘LEAVE!’ he spits.

  I turn around and do exactly as I’m told.

  Thirty-Nine

  Ed

  I don’t move until I hear the front door shut. I don’t go downstairs until I see her car disappear from view. I don’t cry until I’ve buckled Oli up into his car seat, into my car, Floyd in his basket and the memory box placed beside him.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do, or where I’m going to stay, until I see the B & B in the middle of rural Lincolnshire.

  I don’t know what my future now holds.

  Forty

  Rachel

  I didn’t go home straight away. I drove out to Wollaton Park, turning up the long drive flanked by trees and dozing deer in the fields beyond. I pulled up in the car park, wrenching the handbrake and stalling the engine. The judder of the car forced my control aside and I sobbed until I had no energy left to cry. Then I waited until it was dark, before driving home.

  And here I am. Exhausted, my head pounding, taking the steps to our flat, everything hurting. It hurts to fish keys out of my bag. It hurts to push open the door. It hurts to step
inside and find myself alone in the flat. It hurts to realise I’m glad Mo’s not here.

  I go to my room, falling into my unmade bed. Mum’s photo stares at me, setting me off crying all over again. I bury my head in my pillow and don’t stop crying until I fall asleep.

  The room is dark when I’m woken by the sound of Mo tapping on my bedroom door. ‘Are you in there?’ she asks, pushing the door open and letting a shaft of light seep through, lighting up my face. ‘Rach? What’s the matter?’ she asks, which makes it clear my face is as puffed up as it feels. My eyes swollen and red. ‘Fuck, what’s happened?’ She comes over to my bed, tapping my bedside light on as she sits down. We’re lit by a hazy glow.

  ‘Ed knows I looked through Ellie’s stuff and now he hates me.’

  ‘I don’t understand, how did that come about?’

  ‘He brought Oli in this afternoon but didn’t show up to collect him. I knew something must be wrong so I took Oli home and found Ed with the DNA test in his lap. I told him I was glad he’d found it, that I hadn’t known how to tell him it was there, but that it probably didn’t mean anything, which, of course, told him enough to know I’d been through her stuff.’

  ‘Oh shit, Rach.’

  ‘He was looking at Oli as though he didn’t recognise him.’ My voice wobbles, the image of Ed’s distance and anger coming back into full view. ‘I think he believes Oli’s not his son.’

  ‘Oh, no, Rach.’

  ‘And I’m to blame.’ I wipe my eyes, annoyed I’m crying again. Annoyed I can’t even keep that much in check. ‘If I’d hidden the test when I found it, none of this would have happened.’

  ‘Rach.’ Mo takes my hands, staring into my eyes. ‘That’s not the answer. Surely you can see that.’

  I bite my lip, closing my eyes until I know I’m back in control. ‘I know. I know, I just… I wish I could change it. I want to take his hurt away, I want to take it for him. I keep thinking I should call him, or pop round, maybe.’

  ‘I think you need to give him some space.’ She takes her hands back, pulling her cardigan over them.

  ‘I know, but I don’t want to.’

  ‘I don’t think you can help him right now, Rach. In fact, I think you maybe need to take some time for yourself.’ She thinks for a moment. ‘Shall I ask Greg to call him? Just to check he’s okay. Would that help?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, get Greg to call him. Please. Ask him to say that—’

  ‘Rach, I can’t ask him to say anything. I can only get him to check everything’s alright.’ Mo lifts my chin up. ‘Seriously, Rachel. You need to step back.’ I nod, knowing full well that she’s right. ‘Give me a minute.’

  She goes out of my room and I pull up the duvet to my chin, trapping it down as I hug myself in tight. The room is cold, or maybe that’s just me. Either way, I shiver, growing colder the longer Mo’s gone. When she comes back in, she brings a steaming mug of tea and a glass of wine. ‘I wasn’t sure which was more appropriate,’ she says.

  ‘What did he say?’ I ask, reaching for the tea, clasping my fingers around the mug, the heat burning my skin.

  ‘His phone was switched off. Greg says it must be a work one as it’s just ringing out dead. Ed handed his notice in the other day.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Greg’s trying to get hold of him through Facebook.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Mo sighs, climbing beneath the covers, dropping an arm around my shoulders. ‘Bloody hell, Rach, you sure know how to dig yourself a hole.’ She pulls me in for a squeeze, kissing me on the side of the head. ‘What are we going to do with you?’ she asks.

  ‘Fuck knows,’ I answer.

  She reaches for the wine on my bedside table. ‘Do you mind if I…?’ she asks. The light catches and sparkles something on her finger; a large vintage diamond ring sits on the third finger of her left hand.

  ‘Mo!’ I say, reaching out for her hand. She tries to pull her hand back, stuffing it under the covers. ‘What’s that… Mo!’ I put my mug down, shifting to sit up. ‘Are you…?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Rach. I know now’s not the time. I was going to tell you when I came in the room, but I could see something wasn’t right. It’s no big deal, we can talk about it another time.’

  ‘No big deal! Oh my God, Mo!’ I reach to pull her hand free so I can study the ring close up. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, my eyes filling with more selfish tears. I stare hard, hoping they’ll stop, but one escapes and drops on her hand.

  ‘Oh, Rach, no, don’t,’ she says, wiping my face with her sleeve.

  ‘What,’ I sniff, moving back to wipe it for myself. ‘Happy tears,’ I try. ‘I’m really happy for you.’ I go to take a deep breath to show I mean it, but fail miserably, letting out a muffled sob instead. ‘You deserve it,’ I sniff. ‘He’s great,’ I hiccup. ‘I am really…’ She pulls me in for a hug, holding me so tight I can barely breath. ‘Shit,’ I mumble into her hair. ‘I’m a really shit friend.’

  ‘Sssshhhh.’ Mo strokes my hair. ‘It’s okay,’ she hiccups, and I realise that we’re both crying. ‘Now look what you’ve started,’ she says, half laughing.

  ‘I am happy for you, truly,’ I insist.

  ‘I know. I know you are.’

  I pick at the bed sheets, twisting them around and around my finger. ‘I just…’

  ‘I know.’ A knock at the door interrupts the words we don’t need to speak, so well do we know each other. ‘Come in.’

  ‘Hey.’ Greg stands awkwardly at the door and I escape Mo’s clutches to get out of bed and go and give him a hug.

  ‘Congratulations,’ I sniff into his ear, wiping my nose before I leave snot on his shoulder.

  ‘Erm, thanks,’ he answers, uncertainly.

  ‘Have you got hold of him?’ Mo asks, crossing her legs beneath my duvet.

  ‘Yeah,’ Greg says, taking a step closer to his new fiancée. ‘He’s gone away. He says he can’t stay, that he needs to go where he can work out what to do next. He…’ Greg looks to me, then back to Mo. ‘He said he doesn’t want anyone to get in touch.’ I nod, knowing the last bit is for my benefit. ‘He said he has to start afresh.’

  Mo looks at me, pity all over her face.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I lie. ‘It’s fine.’ But at that moment, I realise none of it’s fine but I have no way of ever making things better. ‘Look, you two. I’m tired, I need to sleep. It’s been a long day. Congratulations.’ I try to smile. ‘I’m thrilled. I guess you’ll be moving in, Greg. I can move out.’

  ‘No,’ he says, ‘that’s not…’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I answer, standing as tall as my jelly legs will let me. ‘I was going to be moving out anyway.’ I go to kiss Mo on the cheek. ‘I wasn’t sure how to tell you, actually, but now’s as good a time as any, Mo. I think I’m going to take your advice. Retrain.’

  Mo’s eyes widen. ‘Teacher?’

  I nod and she squeaks. ‘The house sale is due to go through and Dad has the cash, so I’m going to go to uni. I was going to be moving out anyway. Maybe head to a new city for the course.’

  ‘Where? Where are you going? When?’

  ‘I’m not sure, maybe Sheffield. Possibly Leeds. But Dad needs help moving out before then, so, you know. He said he didn’t need any help, that I had to go off and think about my future, but I reckon I’m clear so I’ll go and stay with him for a few days, help pack the last of his stuff up. Then there’s Rich. Rich is getting married!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I laugh a sob, tripping over my words. ‘Yeah, so… me and Dad can go to Italy. For the wedding. Rich won’t be back for a while, he’s—’

  ‘Rachel…’ says Mo, reaching out to my arm.

  ‘It’s fine.’ I half smile, taking her hand. ‘I’ll go to Dad’s tomorrow; I’ll let you know about Italy. And when I can empty my room.’

  ‘You don’t have to,’ repeats Mo.

  ‘No, Rachel,’ Greg says. ‘You don’t have to… we were…’ Mo reaches for Greg
’s hand, giving him a warning glance. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out they were probably thinking of buying their own place now anyway. I let Mo think I haven’t worked that bit out.

  ‘It’s all fine. Life’s moving on, as it should. Now, go on, you two. Go and celebrate. But do it quietly. The last thing I need to hear is you two at it in the room next door!’ My attempt at humour falls flat. Mo reaches her spare hand to Greg’s arm. ‘Go on,’ I say, ushering them out of my room. ‘See you in the morning.’

  I lean against the door, clicking it shut behind them, sinking to the ground. I’ve lost Ed. I’m losing Mo. The family home will soon be gone and there is nothing in my future that offers stability or security. I feel like I need everyone and no one. I feel left behind.

  Ed’s gone to start afresh. It’s time I did too. Maybe distance would be the best thing for all of us. Mo once accused me of pushing her away – I was struggling with something, I don’t remember what right now, but she stood in front of me and shouted that she was going nowhere, that I would not force her out of my life. And she was right, she stayed around. But maybe now it’s time I found a way to stand on my own two feet. It’s not so much pushing her away, as searching for myself.

  Forty-One

  Rachel

  Dear Ed,

  Before you rip this up and throw it away, something you’ve every right to do, I wanted to write and apologise. I wanted a chance to explain. Explain. Apologise. Words that seem lame now, compared with what I did that night. Offering a reason seems crude and I don’t really know what else I can say, except that I feel like I owe you some sort of explanation.

  I’ve spent a lot of years pretending I had no drive, no fight for life. If I didn’t push too hard, things couldn’t fall away. If I didn’t pursue the things I wanted in life, I didn’t have to face it when I failed to achieve. I don’t know where this came from; a fear of losing, a fear of failure, a fear of experiencing pain? Maybe all of those things.