by Cross, Amy
“I'll be home in a few hours.”
“Because they enjoy being miserable. It's like a hobby. It makes them feel special.”
Reaching the door, Natasha hesitated for a moment before turning back and watching as Sophie began searching for something to watch on her laptop.
“I think you're wrong, Sophie,” she said finally. “I think those people can be helped. Every last one of them. I wouldn't be running these sessions if I didn't. Grief doesn't have to be a death sentence. Grief is like a locked door. I just need to help those people find their own personal key, so they can go through and move on with their lives.”
“Whatever,” Sophie muttered, rolling her eyes. “If you ask me, they're just a bunch of losers.”
***
He took a cleanly-ironed shirt from the bed and began to slip it on, pulling the cotton up to cover the tattoo on his back.
***
“Daddy? Shouldn't you be in bed?”
Startled by the noise from the doorway, David turned and saw that his daughter Alice was watching him. Clutching her toy bear, she looked sleepy, but evidently she'd made it all the way downstairs on her own.
“I'm just reading something,” he replied, making sure the laptop was tilted so that she couldn't see. “You definitely should be in bed, young lady. It's way past your bedtime.”
“I'm not sleepy.”
“Then why do you look sleepy?”
Shrugging, she stepped toward him. “What are you reading about?”
He glanced at the screen, which still showed the paused image from a documentary he'd been watching about the Hexley Airport disaster. He'd seen the same documentary several years ago, but this time he was looking for clues, trying to work out whether anyone really could have changed what happened.
“Nothing,” he muttered, closing the laptop's lid all the way.
“Who's the woman with you?” Alice asked.
“I'm sorry?”
“The woman with you.” The little girl paused, staring at him across the dimly-lit kitchen. “She's right next to you.”
David looked around, before turning back to her and forcing a smile.
“There's no woman in here,” he explained. “Mummy's asleep because she has to get up very early for school, and Daddy isn't in the habit of inviting other women into the house late at night.”
“But I can see her. She's right behind you.”
David turned again, and this time the smile on his face was a little less easy.
“You're just very tired,” he explained, “and you're getting dreams and awake-time mixed up.”
She shook her head.
“Alice -”
“I can see a woman standing behind you,” she said again. “I know I'm only little and I don't know everything, but I can see her right now.” She pointed at a spot right next to him. “She's there.”
Sighing, David got to his feet and made his way around the table, before placing a hand on her shoulder.
“Why don't we get you back to bed?” he asked, trying to steer her toward the hallway, only for her to remain rooted to the spot. “Would it make you feel better if I went to bed too? I don't want to make you feel like you're missing anything.”
“I don't like her,” Alice replied, scrunching her nose. “I don't think she should be in our house. I want to go and tell Mummy.”
“You can't wake Mummy up for something like this.”
“Make the woman go away.”
Sighing, David crouched next to Alice and followed her gaze, looking past the kitchen table and over toward the darker side of the room. He paused, clearly trying to humor his daughter and make her think that he was taking her seriously, although for a moment he watched the darkness and waited just in case there was any sign of a figure of a presence.
“Nope,” he said finally. “I'm sorry, honey, but there's no-one here.”
“Is she a ghost?”
“Alice -”
“Is she?” Turning to him, wide-eyed and clearly a little scared, she hesitated for a moment. “Daddy,” she added, lowering her voice to a whisper, “is our house haunted?”
“Of course it isn't.”
“Then why is there a ghost woman in the kitchen?”
“There isn't a ghost woman in the kitchen.”
“Then why can't you see her?” she asked, pointing past the table again.
“Okay, this has gone on long enough,” he replied, taking her by the hand and leading her into the hallway. “Alice, I don't want any more talk of ghosts, okay? You're just going to make it harder to get to sleep tonight, and trust me, these things can really snowball once you start thinking about them. So you're going to go back to bed, and you're going to think about nice things, and you're going to sleep until morning and then there'll be no more talk of ghosts. Okay?”
He could tell that Alice remained unconvinced, even as he led her up the stairs and into her room. Still, he managed to distract her with talk of fun things they could do at the weekend, and finally he tucked her into bed. She asked him to stay while she fell asleep, so he took a book from the shelf and began to read a story to her. Finally, after a few minutes, her eyes began to slip shut and she drifted off, although David continued to read until he was certain she was out. Even then, after setting the book down and listening to his daughter's breath as she slept, he waited a little while longer before carefully getting to his feet and heading out of the room.
The door bumped very gently as he pulled it shut.
Once he was back downstairs, he stopped in the kitchen doorway and looked across the room. Everything was as he'd left it, everything was quiet, yet still he seemed a little hesitant. As he glanced toward the darker far end of the room, he seemed somehow expectant, as if he was waiting for something to move. Finally, reaching over to the switches on the wall, he turned on all the lights before making his way over to the table and sitting down. As he opened his laptop, he still seemed stiff and awkward, and then he began to enter his password.
Suddenly he turned, as if startled by something. He looked across the room, and then slowly he turned back to the laptop and began to resume his research on the disaster at Hexley Airport.
As he did so, the hairs on the back of his neck began to rustle slightly, just enough that after a moment he reached back and scratched.
Scrolling down the page, he stopped as he saw a photo of the crash site. Taken from afar, the image showed flames rising into the sky from the far side of the forest, while a blurry fire engine could be seen on the road. The image seemed to transfix David for a moment, before he eventually scrolled further down and saw several more pictures from that awful night. One of the photos showed the scene on the following morning, when the flames had been replaced by a lingering plume of black smoke, and then in another photo several workers from the airport could be seen speaking to police. At the bottom of the page, a box-out from the article noted that the cause of the crash still hadn't been determined, but that terrorism had been ruled out and some kind of technical failure was deemed most likely.
As David continued to read, he was completely unaware of a pale face staring down at him from the other side of the table, watching his every move. Clicking to check another page, then another, he began to read about the various technical failures that might have caused the crash, but the more he learned, the more he realized that there were still no answers. Eventually he brought up a folder from his laptop's desktop and began to look through short snippets of footage from the perfume store's camera, watching shots of various employees heading in and out of the stockroom.
After a while, he saw the incriminating footage that had showed Suzie stealing boxes.
And then he saw one more file, one that he hadn't yet checked. Bringing it up, he saw an unfamiliar figure opening the stockroom's door and stepping inside. Dressed in a security guard's uniform, the woman seemed to be on routine patrol in the middle of the night, and David was about to close the window when he suddenly spotted s
omething next to the woman.
Something brief.
Something blurred.
Something that would have been so easy to miss.
Something that, when he rewound and looked again, sent a shiver through his chest.
Getting to his feet, David scribbled a quick note for his wife before grabbing his keys and hurrying out of the house.
***
“I spent the whole evening thinking about it,” Lizzie continued, her voice sounding strangely flat and emotional as she stared down at the floor. “About all the things I never said. All the times I was too busy or too self-absorbed to pay attention to my poor darling.”
She hesitated, as if she was struggling to work out how to explain what she was thinking.
“It's often what was left unsaid that's hardest to deal with,” Natasha suggested finally, as the other members of the meeting listened. “Lizzie, thank you so much for opening up to us this evening. I know it must have been very difficult for you, and I know from our previous conversations that you've struggled a great deal with this. I can only hope that -”
“I just can't stop thinking about what it must have been like!” the woman blurted out suddenly, with tears in her eyes. “In those final moments, I mean. In the forest, with the burning trees. Was there any warning? Was there any pain? Was she trapped under the tree, burning to death?”
“I don't think it's helpful to think like that,” Natasha told her.
“Or was it quick and sudden?” she continued. “I suppose that would have been less painful for her. I just wish I knew. I wish there was some way to ask her whether it hurt, whether she was scared, or whether she was too busy being brave. I think that's what I'd prefer. I'd like to think she was so focused on her job, she never had time to really process everything that was happening around her. Otherwise, she must have been -”
Suddenly she burst into tears and buried her face in her hands, and the men sitting on either side of her immediately reached over to offer some comfort. Patting her on the back, they both told her that she was doing well, and that her late husband would be proud of her for how she was handling her grief.
“I think maybe that's an appropriate place to end this evening's meeting,” Natasha told the others, as she checked her watch. “I'd like to thank you all for coming, and I hope you'll all be back next week so we can talk some more. I know some of you wanted to speak tonight, and I'll make sure you get a chance next week. Okay, everyone? Thank you again.”
As the rest of the group got to their feet, Lizzie was still sobbing. Natasha went over to speak to her a little more, although after a moment she couldn't help glancing at the man who'd attended for the first time, but who had said nothing. As the man set his chair back on the stack, Natasha noticed a hint of a tattoo sticking out from beneath his shirt collar, and she realized he must be the man who'd briefly shown up at her office earlier in the day.
***
Crouching down, he slipped a key into the bicycle lock and gave it a twist, before slipping the lock free from the wheel.
“A man after my own heart, I see,” a voice said suddenly.
Looking up, the man seemed startled for a moment as he saw Natasha making her way down the steps from the civic center. Darkness had begun to fall, and she was already wearing a reflective vest as she headed over to one of the other bikes that was chained nearby.
“Oh,” the man muttered, “right. Sure.”
“I'm sorry you didn't get to speak tonight,” she continued, as she began to unlock her bike. “I don't want you to feel pressured. Sometimes people just want to get a feel for how the support group works before they feel ready to contribute. Sometimes they never feel ready. But if you want to speak up, just let me know.”
The man let out a brief grunt.
“You came to my office, I think?” Natasha continued.
He turned to her.
“Sorry,” she added, “I just... I'm sorry I wasn't available during the day, but if you call or drop in, we can arrange an introductory meeting. Maybe one-on-one would work better for you.”
“Maybe,” he replied, pulling his bike free from the rack and then turning it around. He seemed ready to leave, but something held him back and finally he turned to her again. “Listening to Lizzie tonight, I feel like I'd just be boring everyone. I don't really have very much to say.”
“It's natural to think like that,” Natasha told him as she put her helmet on and began to fix the strap under her chin. “Just remember that everyone in that room has lost someone. Everyone is grieving. It doesn't matter if the loss happened last week or last year, or last -”
“It was ten years ago,” the man replied, interrupting her. “The crash, I mean. The same crash that killed Lizzie's husband, and so many other people. I didn't just come to eavesdrop on other people tonight. I went through the same thing myself. I know the pain.” He paused for a moment. “To be honest, I was quite surprised when I found out that there were others here in Hexley who were still dealing with the aftermath of the disaster. I thought I was the only one who was still thinking about it, all these years later. Sometimes, I felt like the rest of the world had moved on and I was the only one who...”
His voice trailed off.
“The pain never really goes away,” Natasha told him, “and there are no rules about how long it should take. I'm supposed to offer hope and to tell you all that things will get better, but it doesn't always work like that. These group sessions aren't about forgetting the pain or getting over it, whatever that's supposed to mean. They're about dealing with the pain, and processing it, and finding a way to live with it. And that, I promise you, is achievable. Even after ten years.”
The man nodded. “I understand. Well, thank you anyway. See you next week.”
With that, he began to wheel his bike past her.
“Do you mind if I ask who you lost?” Natasha said suddenly.
Stopping, the man turned to look back at her.
“You don't have to tell me,” she continued, “I just... I was just wondering, that's all.”
He hesitated, as if he wasn't sure whether or how to tell her, and then some kind of inner tension seemed to ease slightly as he let his shoulders sag.
“I've never talked to anyone about it before,” he explained. “At least, not about how I feel. But the truth is, my wife and daughter were on the plane that crashed at Hexley Airport.”
“I'm so sorry,” Natasha replied, her eyes filling almost instantly with tears.
“My wife Jennifer was thirty-four. My daughter was just eight. They shouldn't even have been on the plane in the first place, but there'd been some trouble at home and she was taking Tammy away for Christmas. Things had been rough for us, since we'd lost... Well, let's just say that I regret a lot of the things I said in those days. There were a million coincidences that had to all happen at the same time in order for Jennifer and Tammy to end up on that particular flight on that particular day. If just one event in that long chain had happened differently, they'd still be with us. I'd still have my family.”
“I can't even begin to imagine what it's like to lose someone like that,” Natasha replied, wiping a tear from her cheek. “Sorry, I'm not really supposed to show emotion when I'm talking to people at the meetings, but I had no idea you'd suffered such a terrible tragedy.” She paused, before stepping toward him and placing a hand on his arm. “I really think you should come and see me some time soon. There's no shame in still struggling with this, and a grief counselor can help in ways you might not be able to imagine.”
“Well, I...”
He paused, before shaking his head.
“No,” he continued. “Coming here was a mistake. I should deal with it all in my own way.”
“But if you've tried that over the past ten years, and you don't feel it's worked, why not try something new?”
Again, he shook his head.
“Do you have anyone else?” she asked. “Anyone you can talk to?”
> “I don't think I want to talk about it,” he replied, carefully slipping his arm away from her hand. “I appreciate your concern, but it was weak of me to come here tonight.”
“You mustn't think like -”
“No, it was weak!” he said firmly, allowing his anger to show for a moment. “I need to be strong. I need to deal with this in my own way. Tonight I saw those people in there, still whining about something that happened ten years ago, and I realized that I don't want to be like that. I don't want to talk about my feelings, I just want to do something about them. And I can do something. I just needed to know there were no other options first.” He paused, a little breathless now, and then finally he turned away. “I'm sorry. I should go.”
“You must miss them very much,” she suggested.
He froze, as if the words had cut him to the bone, and then he half-turned before nodding again.
“That's okay, you know,” she continued. “Sometimes people feel as if they're under pressure to forget their lost loved ones, but that's not true at all. You mustn't be afraid to think about them.”
“Oh, I'm not,” he replied, “I just have nights when it's much harder to stop obsessing. Some nights, it all feels so real and so close, I think I can see and hear them. In fact, it's more than just thinking. Some nights, they actually...”
His voice trailed off for a moment.
“It's difficult, isn't it?” she asked. “Talking about it, I mean. When you're used to bottling things up, just the simple act of talking can really stir your memories. That's one of the reasons I recommend group therapy as part of a bereavement counseling program. Otherwise, memories can become like ghosts. They stop being under your control.”
“I know about ghosts.”
“But if -”
“Trust me,” he added, with a hint of defiance in his voice now as he stood framed against the darkening sky. “I know all about ghosts. Don't start trying to lecture me about ghosts, because you don't know the things I know. Okay, lady?”