After You Left

by Carol Mason

  ‘Why?’ Evelyn asks. ‘What are your real reasons for that?’

  I think for a moment. ‘I suppose I just feel there’s this need to look at her and have her look at me – for us both to somehow confront what’s happened. Maybe because they’re all off there in their own corner, and then there’s me, over here. He wasn’t just a passing boyfriend. He was my husband! And I just feel like there needs to be a conversation . . . Is that entirely bonkers?’

  ‘Not entirely. But I’m not sure a conversation would be very productive, or would end well. I think if you want to see her, it should be for closure, to help you move on. To sort of see them and make them real. Remember, that’s why I did it – to help me walk away. Though there’s no guarantee it will help, not when it comes to the erratic tug of our emotions. I thought I’d walked away when I went back to London after our week together. But when Eddy’s letter came, all that went out of the window.’

  We stand and contemplate one another. The sun suddenly beams its brilliance on us, and we are caught in a moment that Edward Hopper would have rendered in vibrant simplicity and colour. After a weighted pause, I say, ‘What a life we lead! Well, some of us, anyway!’ I think of Sally and how uncomplicated her love life is, with its long-time marriage that I used to think must be tediously dull. Perhaps I am a little envious of her, after all.

  ‘You know what I realised a very long time ago?’ Evelyn says.

  ‘I love hearing all the things you’ve realised, Evelyn!’

  ‘Anyone who judges us secretly envies us. Anyone who thinks they’ve done it all better than we have is lying to the one person we should never, ever, lie to – themselves.’ She smiles. ‘To finish what we were saying about Lisa, though, if you do go to see her, just remember why you’re doing it. Not out of hurt and anger or a self-pity trip. Not to get him back, but to let him go.’

  ‘Crazily, I still think he’s going to change his mind and come back. That he wrote that note in a state of shock, and that he’s still in shock, but that it will pass and his love for me will float back up to the top of his priorities. I just have this hunch that when I am least expecting it, he’ll phone or send a text and want to see me . . .’

  ‘You should set you sights on someone else now, Alice. On someone like . . .’ She stops, then says, ‘Michael!’

  For a moment, I think Evelyn’s telling me to set my sights on Michael, then I realise she’s said his name because he’s walked through the door.

  ‘Oh!’ I laugh, and put a hand over my mouth. He gives me a very suspicious look indeed.

  ‘Wow. I’ve never seen anyone so happy to see me, except my uncle’s dog.’

  I beam at him. ‘Your timing was impeccable. But you’ll never know why.’

  ‘Alice is just relieved to see a male who isn’t on oxygen,’ Evelyn says, and gives him a small, tight hug.

  Michael gazes across the lawn. ‘Are they still out there? Do we need a search party?’

  ‘I hope your lawn man doesn’t charge by the hour,’ I tell him.

  Michael’s eyes smile. ‘Okay, girls, let’s go put the kettle on.’

  Much later, as we walk back to Evelyn’s flat, where my car is parked, I catch myself in a state of reflection about our afternoon. ‘Michael’s nice, isn’t he?’

  ‘And he’s not taken. At least, not that I know of.’

  ‘Nice and single? Hmm . . . Sounds like two good reasons to steer clear!’

  We arrive back at the door to her flat. ‘I’ve had a wonderful day, seeing you again,’ Evelyn says, and she kisses me.

  ‘Likewise.’ More than you can know.

  She scrutinises my face. Then she places a tiny little warm finger under my chin, and lifts it. ‘Why so glum suddenly?’

  She’s amazingly perceptive. ‘Oh! I don’t know . . . Because I’m going back to that lonely flat? I suppose, I have my moments where I think, How am I ever going to put this behind me?’ But funnily enough, as I say it, I hear a voice inside me telling me that I will. Is it Sally’s? Evelyn’s? No, I think. It’s mine. Rhetorical. Almost progress.

  ‘You will, Alice.’ Evelyn grasps my upper arms. ‘You have lost something, but you will find something – possibly even someone – in his place. I promise.’

  ‘We’re not talking about Michael again, are we?’

  Evelyn smiles. ‘Well, not all love has to be grandly romantic love. You just think that because you’re still so young.’

  ‘I’m not that young. At least, not to me!’

  She opens her bag, and takes something out. ‘I wanted to give you this earlier,’ she says. She’s holding another small envelope. She looks quite solemn.

  ‘Another letter?’ This one is a manila envelope. Yellow and sturdy.

  ‘Not quite. It’s something that was sent to me. By someone who cared. Take it. Don’t open it now, though. Wait until you are alone and feeling a tiny bit brighter.’

  I take it, wondering what on earth it can be. ‘Aren’t you going to give me a hint?’

  Evelyn says, ‘I think I already did.’

  THIRTY-THREE

  Monday is a bank holiday. I manage to sleep for a staggering fourteen hours, and I actually dream that I went to see Lisa. I wake up horribly disturbed and more confused than before because in the dream she’s nice and I really like her. In the early afternoon, after I’ve made myself bacon and eggs, I venture out for a run.

  The beach isn’t as busy as I’d imagined, considering the weather is good. I run the path, but can’t get into my usual groove. When I concentrate on the pounding of my heart, I find myself thinking about Dylan’s heart. In fact, so many things have led me to think about Dylan’s heart. After I left Evelyn’s, I went straight home and googled his condition. I read until my head hurt, digesting all the medical terminology, comparing this clinic’s findings to some other’s. It all sounded as bad as Justin had said. Then I ended up googling dementia and Alzheimer’s, and reading some of the stuff Michael had emailed me, which I’d almost forgotten about. Somehow, I finished off an entire bottle of wine, and recognised that I’m going to have to take a look at my drinking.

  I run out of steam, come to a stop, bend over and pant like a stressed dog. I am hanging there, panting, when I hear a car horn. When I glance up, there’s a red Datsun. A clapped-out relic from the eighties. Someone dark-haired at the wheel. I’m trying to see who they’re tooting at, then . . .

  ‘Michael!’

  He rolls down the passenger window, all smiles. ‘Hi.’

  ‘What a freakishly random coincidence!’ I tell him.

  ‘Freakishly random? Or it might just be a plain, old-fashioned coincidence.’ He looks me over in my running gear. ‘Did you know that Evelyn’s very concerned about you?’

  ‘Is this déjà vu?’ I ask him.

  He smiles. ‘It does have a degree of familiarity.’

  My foot aches and I’m holding it up by my ankle, twirling to ease the short, sharp pain. I stop the movement, and stand there on one leg, like a pelican. ‘So you’ve followed me to the beach to tell me that?’

  ‘The beach and Evelyn’s concern aren’t related, I promise. I often come here. It’s my thinking place. I find I can’t think anywhere where I can put a TV on to distract me from the purpose.’

  I smile. ‘Do you run as well?’

  ‘If I need the toilet. Or if I’ve a prospective date on the horizon. Otherwise, I usually sit just here and eat ice cream. Often one in each hand.’

  ‘No ice cream today then?’ He looks like he’s caught the sun, and it makes him appear more Mediterranean than British.

  ‘First, I have to stare at the sea and contemplate life. At that point, it’s usually ice cream or suicide.’

  ‘So we might have something in common!’ I chuckle. I really don’t know when the last time was that someone made me laugh. ‘So why is Evelyn concerned about me this time?’

  ‘Well, I’m not supposed to say.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because
I’m not supposed to know the thing that you wouldn’t want me to know.’

  ‘And what thing is that?’ Then I gasp. ‘She told you? About my personal life?’

  ‘Not about your entire personal life. Just the highlights.’ When he sees my face, he says, ‘Hey. I don’t invite it. It just comes to me.’

  She is trying to set us up! The little devil! You will meet someone in his place . . .

  A playful twinkle appears in his big brown eyes. I like his eyes. They’re the best part of his face. ‘I thought you were joking before, Michael, but I think maybe you do need to get a life!’ I feel a little betrayed. Evelyn!

  ‘I’ve been trying for thirty-ONE years. I’m sure it’ll happen some day. But until then, other people’s lives are constant fodder for my entertainment.’

  I start walking – limping. He throws the car into gear, and crawls alongside me. ‘All she said was you were going through a stressful time because of a broken relationship. We could share an ice cream and contemplate a joint suicide pact?’

  ‘You mean an ice cream each, or one between us?’

  ‘That depends on who’s paying.’

  I wag my finger. ‘I’m doing this for Evelyn. Just so we’re clear. You can report back to her that you followed me to the beach and I haven’t killed myself yet, so she needn’t worry.’

  ‘I didn’t follow you to the beach. Though I might next time. Now that I know you come here.’ He reaches over and unlocks the passenger door. ‘Hop in,’ he nods to my foot. ‘And I don’t mean literally.’

  He buys us cornets from a van, and we eat them on a bench overlooking the sea and the few families who are scattered on the sand, trying to pretend it’s hotter than it really is. ‘Remember when you wanted to know what was in the letters?’ I say.

  ‘It’s run between me and my wits every day.’

  I playfully bat his arm. ‘Anyway . . .’ I tell him the gist of Evelyn and Eddy’s story. ‘So essentially, she loved two men. She had to choose. She didn’t choose Eddy. He only found this out after he’d already left his wife for her. Then his life was wrecked.’

  Michael’s a great listener. He only breaks eye contact when he has to lick his ice cream before it leaks down his sleeve. ‘I don’t think Evelyn’s ever going to know if he forgave her. He’s never going to know that she came back for him. Life is so unfair sometimes.’

  ‘Of course, she tells it a little differently.’

  My hand freezes with the cornet midway to my mouth. ‘What do you mean, she tells it differently? You know all this already?’

  He beams a smile.

  ‘So I’ve sat here for half an hour telling you something you already know?’

  ‘More like forty-FIVE minutes.’

  ‘Why didn’t you stop me?’

  ‘I’m quirky like that. Besides’ – he captures my eyes again – ‘I enjoy listening to you.’

  I shove the end of the cornet in my mouth. ‘Ha!’ I say, with my mouth full. ‘You’re a strange guy.’

  ‘Tell me another story.’ He puts his hands behind his head. His elbow fleetingly makes contact with my hair. ‘But this time, feel free to pick one I haven’t heard before.’

  ‘Oh, I think I’m done with stories for one day! Why don’t you tell me one? But a happy one. Or if not happy, then scandalous.’

  He seems to think. ‘Okay. Well, this might qualify. Especially if you have a thing for the pathologically ridiculous . . . The truth is, I don’t always come here to sit in my car and eat ice cream. I came here today for a tryst in a hotel with a friend.’ He indicates toward town with a flick of his head.

  ‘A tryst?’ I gasp. ‘Wait a minute . . . I thought you said you didn’t have a life?’

  ‘Well, once in a while I get so much life that it makes up for the other 96 per cent of the time when I have none. You see, I’ve become close – I suppose you’d call it – to my best friend’s wife.’ He sees the alarm on my face. ‘I know. You’re shocked. Don’t be. It’s not that morally reprehensible. I’m a good Catholic boy, and Alex is no longer my best friend. In fact, we don’t even speak any more. We fell out a long time ago, over me judging his life.’

  ‘This story is definitely not what I was expecting!’

  ‘Given I know all about your life, I thought it only fair you know all about mine. To even things out.’ He rumples his hair, as though he’s just been doing a spot of interplanetary travel and has landed here unexpectedly while en route to Jupiter.

  I laugh, despite myself. ‘Go on then . . . I think I’d better brace myself.’

  ‘Okay, so, Janette – Alex’s wife – found out about one of his affairs – well, not really one of his affairs, more like all of his affairs – and she left him, and, of course, it was my shoulder she cried on. So I was forced to take sides. I took the side of fair.’

  ‘And you slept with her.’

  ‘No.’ He looks surprised. ‘I kissed her. Today was supposed to be about us sleeping together. Her idea to take it further. But I didn’t want to.’ He glances at me again and does a double-take at my expression. ‘I know. You’ve absolutely never, in real life, or even on television, heard a man say he didn’t want to sleep with a woman who was offering it.’

  ‘You’re right. I haven’t.’

  ‘Well, to be honest, it is a bit different. Aside from feeling biologically messed up, you feel a bit of a cad when you turn a woman down, don’t you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Men are supposed to never turn down sex. And what kind of nut would say no to an afternoon of passion with a beautiful woman who’s got the hots for him?’ He looks right at me. ‘Apparently, I would.’

  ‘So why did you?’ He has an appealing twelve o’clock shadow. I can imagine someone sinking into a nice, long, slow kiss with him. ‘Too close to home?’

  ‘No. I mean, that’s not ideal. But I’m not in love with her. Even though I don’t really know why. Besides, it doesn’t help when I’m convinced she’s just looking to replace Alex with the first loyal lapdog of a man that comes along.’ He gazes into the distance, in contemplation. ‘Put it this way, when I’m old and suffering from dementia, I have a feeling it won’t be Janette dragging me to art galleries to help me remember our love story.’

  ‘Ah! That’s incredibly sweet!’ I tell him. In fact, I’m so disarmed by his sentiment that, for a moment or two, I am utterly smitten with him.

  ‘So I told her I was sorry, I’d made a mistake. It wasn’t what I wanted.’

  ‘Ouch! That must have stung!’

  ‘She told me she’s going to go back to Alex. I think the comment was designed to get at me. Apparently, women do these warped things.’

  ‘So what did you say to that?’ I find myself hanging on every word of his story.

  ‘Well, she’s an adult, it’s her choice. But it’s a messed-up choice.’ He pulls a resigned smile. ‘It’s amazing really; I don’t know how it happens, but emotional basket cases love me for some reason.’

  I chortle. ‘So there are others?’

  ‘My rejects formed their own self-help group. I think membership is in its hundreds, and growing. I tend to stay away from women with abusive ex-husbands, women who abuse their ex-husbands, women who cut themselves, women who order salads, anyone who has had any form of plastic surgery and anyone who refers to themselves as a friend of my sisters.’

  ‘Sisters?’

  ‘I have four of them. My mother is from Newcastle and my dad’s a randy Italian.’

  I gasp. ‘Oh my! So you must really understand women if you’ve four sisters!’

  ‘Not really. When you have to try to understand all of them every day of your life, it becomes the most confusing thing that’s ever happened to you, so you set yourself other goals.’

  We walk slowly for a while, continuing to chat about all kinds of deep and then completely trivial things. He’s easy to talk to. I can’t help comparing it to that first date with Justin, where he grilled me about everything from
children to my real father, and I’d been so certain I was failing all his tests.

  Michael and I talk about art. About Evelyn and Eddy again. ‘You said you weren’t in love with your friend’s wife.’ I’ve been dying to come back to this. ‘Do you believe there’s such a thing as being in love, Michael? Or is it a state of mind we all want to invent? A bit like God. If he doesn’t exist, we have to create him.’

  He looks at me as though I’ve just said that Hitler was a really sweet man. ‘Of course it exists! What kind of nutty question is that?’

  ‘Explain it for me. Like I’m an idiot.’

  ‘Well, I can’t, can I? It defies words. You just know when you’re in love. A bit like you know when you’re hungry or tired. It’s primal. It’s formless. But it’s very real.’

  We return to his car because he offers to drive me home. ‘What made you want to become a nurse?’ I ask. ‘Let me guess. Was it your slavish devotion to cleanliness?’ I pick up a fetid white sports sock that’s hanging out of the pocket of the car door and dangle it at him.

  The gears groan loudly as he shifts them. ‘Well, I could say I had the calling from an early age to help the dying or demented, but it’s really nothing as noble as that. I was going out with a girl who’d just become a nurse. She got a lot of job satisfaction, she was decently paid and she said British-trained nurses were in demand all over the world. So I saw an opportunity for money and travel.’ He throws up his left hand. ‘That’s why I now drive this great car and I’m still living in Newcastle.’

  The car gives an unexpected spontaneous lurch, and I chuckle. ‘But you do get job satisfaction.’

  ‘Yeah. The old folks, you know . . .’ He switches on the radio, but the sound quality is deplorable. ‘They really only come to us when their families can no longer cope – when somebody’s given up on them ever being any better than they are. So the way I see it is, I might well be the only person in the world who carries any hope for them. I feel honoured, in a way. I get to be the last one to believe in them.’