“He won’t talk to me, he won’t even look at me,” she cried hard, her words wailing from her. “I feel so alone Rubes. Not only have I lost Isabella, I’m losing him, and it’s happening right in front of my eyes, and I can’t stop it. I’m as helpless as that day,” she cried hard. “He won’t even come to bed. I’m so alone Rubes, he sits there and drinks all day. I’m so alone, I can’t take any more of this Rubes, I can’t, I can’t do this. I need him, and he won’t....” She couldn’t finish as the tears flowed like a river, soaking his top wet through as her shoulders heaved and heaved. “He won’t let me put Isabella’s stuff away in the nursery, he say’s I’m trying to get rid of her, I’m not Rubes I swear, I just can’t look at them anymore, knowing she isn’t here. It’s bloody torture, and it’s constant, she is everywhere I look or go. I just can’t.”
It took another fifteen minutes for her to calm down. Rubin thought she would be better off lying down. He guided her to the stairs and they climbed them together. They walked past Isabella’s door which was closed. He couldn’t help but stare as it came into view. They got to her room, and he guided her to the bed. He helped her sit down, and bent down to take off her shoes. All the while, she was sat motionless, even when he guided her head to the pillow, as he laid her back. He lifted up her legs, she automatically rolled into a foetal position and the tears fell once more. It seriously put a lump in his throat; he sat down on the bed, and rubbed her back that was facing him, comforting her. He sat with her till she fell asleep with exhaustion. Twilight hours had started and the light in the house was dim with the evening sunset which had long gone.
He got up from the bed, gently as not to wake her; he turned on one of the lamps on her dressing table, because if she woke, she would at least have some light to see in the darkness of the night. He stood in the doorway, looking at the poor sleeping Simone; he could only shake his head with dismay, as he closed the door quietly behind him.
Rubin stood at Isabella’s door. His hand outstretched on the handle, he was scared to turn it. He gave himself a good telling off, willing himself to turn the damn handle.
“Come on man, pull yourself together,” he chanted it again and again as his hand released the handle and was joined with the other on his head. “Come on man,” he paced the hallway. He knew going in that room was going to be hard, but it had to be done.
His hand went back on the handle, to and fro; as he tried to muster the courage to just turn that blasted handle. With a gust of nerve, he did it, he turned the handle, and pushed the door slowly open, almost afraid at what he would see.
There was Duncan, sitting in the feeding chair. It was facing Isabella’s cot with the window that separated the space between the two. It was placed there, so one could look through the window, during bottle feeds. There was Duncan, sitting in darkness, with the exception of the moonlight that beamed through the pain of glass that separated the cot and the chair. He was clutching a tall glass, with very little fluid, that was no doubt a good scotch. Duncan however wasn’t looking out through the window. No, poor Duncan’s eyes were fixated on that place, on the floor, in front of Isabella’s cot. Rubin stood there glued to the spot. Duncan was in a trance like state, with only the occasional rise of his glass to his mouth. Rubin watched as Duncan emptied its contents. His hand slipped down to the side of him, where he had placed the bottle. He unscrewed the cap and poured a hearty glass full, and then replaced the cap back on. The bottle was returned and he took a drink. All the while his eyes never left that spot.
Rubin knew they were in a whole lot of trouble. He had seen Duncan go through some tough spots. Like when his aunty Caroline died, Duncan went to pieces and mourned her terribly as she was his mother figure; it reminded him of when his own mother had died. It was another one of the many, many things that bonded them, and also when Duncan’s father died back in 1990. There was no way he was going to stand there and let Duncan lose everything. Rubin was leaving soon for another tour. And it was without his pal, there weren’t many tours they had done without each other, he could count them, only two in the entirety of them serving together. He would be gone soon, too soon, and who would look after these two? He went to turn on the light.
“Leave it off,” growled Duncan.
“Ahh man, you can’t sit here in the dark,” he went to turn on the light switch again.
“I told you, leave it off,” Duncan sat there, glugging from the glass in his hand.
“Ahh man, you can’t drink like that Dunc,” he went to take the glass from him. “You drinking yourself into oblivion isn’t going to do you or anyone, any good.” He looked at Duncan. “Man, cop yourself on,” he didn’t want to go there, but he had to, he couldn’t control the anger he was feeling towards his friend, but something needed to be done, and fast. “Simone needs you Dunc. She is hurting as much, if not more than you.” Duncan still sat there. “Fuck sake man, she carried that wee baby in her for nearly nine months, how do you think she’s feeling? She cries herself to sleep every night.” Duncan still sat there. “Duncan, you’re losing the girl, you’re an awful stupid man if you do, she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you,” he looked at his friend, “Bar me of course.” Nothing, no reaction, he shook his head. “Duncan, Simone needs you, you can’t be sitting here, getting pissed every night, Oh yeah I know... Everyone knows, even the bigwigs, you’re grounded, you do realise that don’t you?
Duncan sat there and took another swig of the now half empty glass, and sniffed his discontent at Rubin. Rubin stepped toward him, and grabbed him by the shoulders of his clothes pulling him up to his feet and shook him as he spoke sternly to Duncan, who was very unsteady on his feet.
“You’re a stupid bastard, wake up. You’re going to lose Simone. You’re going to lose everything if you don’t pull yourself out of this man,” Duncan’s drink slopped around in the glass, held at Duncan’s side where his arms limply hung. Rubin needed a reaction. “You two can always have another baby,” Duncan’s eyes met his for the first time. “I’m telling you man,” he calmly took the glass from his friends hand, still holding Duncan’s gaze. “In time, my friend, it will happen, but it won’t if you’re not together. Dunc’ what’s happened is fucking horrible, but what you’re doing to Simone is far worse. That girl is dying of pain right in front of you, and you’re too consumed by your own grief to see it. You have to wake up Duncan, before it’s too late, and she’s gone.” Duncan nodded his head, very subdued. At last Rubin thought. “I’m putting you to bed; you need to sleep this off.”
Rubin could only shake his head at the situation. He guided a drunken Duncan to the bed where Simone lay, still sleeping. He laid him down, and watched Duncan roll over and place his arms around Simone. He backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. As he walked down the stairs, he prayed, he prayed to God that these two good people, who he loved very much could get through this atrocious time, and come out of it together...
*****
Simone woke up the next morning; she opened her eyes slowly to find an empty space beside her again. She winced, another day of mind numbing, empty, lonely pain, again. She slowly rose up from the bed, like she had every other morning, since that awful Sunday morning. She was dressed in the clothes she had been wearing yesterday, another normality of her life now. She walked to her dressing table and stood in front of the mirror. She was shocked at the pale gaunt lady who looked like she was in her late forties staring back at her. She stood there captivated by the image before her. She put her hands to her hollow checks, as she felt the tired flesh that hung there. She shook her head in disbelief. The old woman was copying her... It was her!
She closed her eyes, and turned away, from her reflection, unable to bear the sight of it anymore. No wonder Duncan wouldn’t look at her, she disgusted herself, and if she looked like this, who could blame him. She looked over in the corner, and saw Isabella’s basket of toys, that she would play with, when she was brought into their bed in the mornings. She fe
lt sick to her stomach. She wondered if this pain would ever go away. She walked, zombie like, out the door and down the stairs. The house was still, like every other morning, she went from room to room, and it was as empty, as the sounds of Isabella laughing filled her mind. She walked into the kitchen, nothing, she stood in the middle of the room for a moment, before walking to the coffee maker and started to prepare a brew. She reached into one of the overhead cupboards reaching for a cup, and one of Isabella’s sippy cups fell down, bouncing off the tiled floor. That was it, she matched upstairs, and back into her bedroom, sitting at her dressing table, and reached into the drawer.
*****
Duncan arrived home, clutching another bottle of scotch. He had been out most of the day, well in fact, he had been holed up at the local pub most of the day to be precise. He staggered in through the door, almost falling flat on his face when the door opened as he was leaning on it to steady himself. He was twisted, and then some, exactly how he wanted to be. He was numb, just how he liked it. He staggered into the kitchen. There on the Kitchen table was a hand addressed envelope. His eyes couldn’t focus on the writing, as his eyes spun like saucers in his head. He threw the letter back down on the table with a growl, and turned his back, the bottle still clutched in his hand as he staggered up the stairs.
The next morning he woke up in the feeding chair, like he did every morning. His tongue was swollen and tasted like a sweaty sock. Where his chin had lain on his chest, a huge dribble wet patch, he wiped the moisture from his chin, feeling the stubble graze his fingers, like the sandpaper it was. He was thirsty; so he reached for the nearly empty bottle. He went to unscrew the cap, and as he did, a beam of sunshine, shone through the window, striking the bottle and reflected a burst of bright light, piercing his eyes like a laser beam. It was enough to stop him in his tracks. He screwed the cap back on, and rose from the chair. Duncan steadied himself before walking to the door, avoiding ‘that spot’ and walked out and down the stairs.
The house was quiet; he walked to the kitchen and reached for a glass, turning on the tap and filling it with water. He was drinking his second glass when the white envelope caught his eye. He walked over to the table, and tore at the corner of it, the noise was deafening. He tried hard to concentrate, and read its contents.
Dear Duncan,
I’m sorry I’ve had to write this letter, it was the last thing I ever wanted to do to you, knowing how you feel about letters of this kind. But I’m sorry; you’ve left me no choice. You won’t talk to me; you won’t even look at me. I can’t do this anymore Duncan. It seems when Isabella died, so did we.
I miss you, I miss you so much Duncan, and the worst thing is, your here, but you’re not really here. You’re a shell of the man I fell in love with, you’re not the man I still so desperately love. But I’m not enough, maybe I never was. You don’t love me that I can see, you love the bottle more than me, and I can’t fight with a bottle. I can’t, I can’t do this, I can’t watch you, day after day, night after night fall into a bottle and stay there.
Losing Isabella has nearly destroyed me, but losing you, is killing me, and I’m not going to watch you do what you’re doing to yourself or us. Duncan, I have begged you and begged you to listen to me, but you won’t. We lost Isabella. We are both, in such a dark place. I have reached out, but you’re not there, you’re never there. I need you Duncan. I know you’re hurting, but I am too, she was my little girl as well... You forget that.
Please forgive me for writing this, but you really left me no choice. I have to go for me... I can’t stay in this house and its memories... I’m drowning, no I’m sinking Duncan.
I can’t help you, as I can’t even help myself. All I know is I need to get as far away from here as I can... Please, please don’t look for me, I need to heal and you will only bring me back here to this living pit of hell that we are in. If you ever loved me, or, if you feel anything for me Duncan... You won’t!
This is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do... I don’t want to, but I know I can’t go on like this. We tried Duncan, it’s just broken, and I think it’s broken beyond repair... I love you, but I need to love myself more.
I’m sorry for everything, I really am. I couldn’t bear to say this to you, to see the hurt on your face, knowing I have caused this. I’m sorry I have rambled on and on, but this seems to be the only choice you have left me.
I hope you can forgive me.
Yours
Simone. Xx
Duncan stared down at the letter in disbelief, as he reread the letter again and again; he slumped to the chair at the table. His hands held his head, elbows on the table holding him up. He felt sick, as he read again and again. He breathed hard, trying to suppress the lump in his throat that was choking him, he walked over to the phone, and dialled Rubin’s number. It answered on the second ring.
“Rubes she’s gone, she left me,” he gasped through the emptiness that engulfed him like a tsunami. “What am I going to do without her?’ He cried out.
13..
Pass Out..
Rubin stood in Duncan’s kitchen reading Simone’s tear stained letter. He folded it back up and placed it onto the table and looked at Duncan, who sat there, still staring at the bottle and the tall glass filled with scotch.
“She fucking ‘Dear John’d me Rubes, she fucking Dear John’d me. Can you believe it? Just like that fucking bitch Juliette, was going to do to me. Fucking women.” He said with venom.
“That wasn’t an easy thing she did Dunc, you can’t blame the wee girl. You left her with no choice. I told you this would happen,” he looked at Duncan for a response.
Duncan sat there, still staring blankly at the glass before him. He looked unkempt; he had not shaved in days. Rubin was angry when he approached him, as he neared him; his nose was filled with the stench of stale booze and body odour emanating from Duncan. Rubin held his breath as he grabbed Duncan by the arm and man-handled him, actually frog marching him to the stairs. Now stairs can be an issue at the best of times, however, dealing with a six foot two, fourteen stone fighting machine, with eighteen inch biceps, that held the force of a sledgehammer, and being generally uncooperative was something else. Rubin had to use all his muscle just to get him up the stairs and bundle him into the bathroom. He held Duncan against the wall, while he leaned in and turned on the tap to full blast, causing the shower head to rain hard. Before Duncan knew what was happening, Rubin grabbed him and threw him under the shower head fully clothed, as Duncan roared in protest, fighting to get out of the tiled cubical. He held him firmly under the shower head, as Duncan fought to get out.
“I’m sorry old man, but I can’t see you walk down this road, and old boy, I’m not going to let you.” Duncan tried to get out again. Rubin blocked him. “Sorry old boy, but you fucking stink, you have to clean up your act or you won’t get her back.”
Duncan stood there; the water washing over him obviously defeated. All that could be heard was the sound of the water running, falling and dripping off him. Rubin could only watch as Duncan came to the realization of what had happened. He stood there deep in thought.
“I can’t Rube, didn’t you read the letter?” He stood there, water running off his nose in a steady stream, as he looked at the floor disgusted with himself.
“I did, but did you Dunc? I read that ‘she loves you;’ I also read that she felt she had no other choice; this was the only way you would listen. Dunc, she tried, she really did. Don’t blame the lass.”
Rubin looked at his friend who had now squatted to the floor, the water still cascading upon him. Duncan slowly sat down on the floor against the wall.
“Dunc, you’ve been gone too long, and you left her dealing with everything. You have to get yourself back on track. Lay off the drink. Shit you’ve seen good men go that way, falling into a bottle and not climbing out is not an option. This drinking thing will affect your career. Fuck man, we’re out in September next year. Twelve years nearly and you’re going
to throw it all away. I told you the brass are aware. They understand, and have been tolerant to a certain extent under the circumstances, but I needn’t tell you, you are walking a very fine line my friend. I’ve got your back, you know that. But there is only so much I or anyone else can do. This all has to be you my friend.”
Duncan, was still looking at the floor of the shower, he nodded his head. Rubin breathed a silent sigh of relief. He just hoped to fuck, that Duncan wasn’t giving him lip service. As the steam filled the room, Rubin got up off the floor; from where he had been crouching to Duncan’s eye level. He knew then, that it was time to turn the tap off, stopping the water, which was falling relentlessly on the dishevelled Duncan.
“Stay here and sort yourself out, shave, clean yourself up. I’m going down to cook breakfast. Come down when you’re done. Okay?” he said, leaving Duncan nodding his head, as he closed the bathroom door behind him.
The first thing Rubin did when he went down stairs was to head into the kitchen, where he grabbed the bottle and the filled glass off the table where Duncan had been sitting before. Rubin walked to the sink, and emptied the contents down the drain. He then went to the fridge to see what he could rustle up. As the light shone on him, he clapped his hands.
“Let’s see what we have here,” he danced a cha, cha as he grabbed the items out one by one, bouncing them on his biceps as he assembled the contents of a hearty breakfast.
*****
Fifteen minutes later Duncan came down the stairs in a towel wrapped around his waist, Rubin winked at him, as he followed him to the table, two awaiting plates, a sizzling frying pan in one hand, and a slotted turner in the other, as he dished out its contents onto the awaiting plates. Duncan sat down, Rubin returned to the counter and put the pan down, returning to the table armed with a bottle of orange juice with bits in it. Simone always made sure there was juice in the fridge for him and she always bought copious amounts of it due to the immense quantities Rubin would drink. He poured it into the two empty tall glasses. Duncan watched him, as he played mother, and then sat down, and immediately started to eat like he was chowing down, like he was back in one of the mess tents. Duncan picked up his fork, and shoved the combination of scrambled eggs, chopped sausage, and tomatoes around his plate, while he watched Rubin shovel the food into his mouth, washing it down with a gulp of the juice every now and again. Duncan looked at his plate, although it smelt very appetising, his stomach was doing somersaults and a huge ‘no fucking way’ after months of heavy drinking.
Dragonflies The Duncan Peters Files Page 13