I looked around the room and saw all the people my grandmother had mattered to. I saw the grief in their faces as they shared stories, I noticed the catches in their laughter and watched as gentle tears fell from their smiling but puffy eyes. She had been selfless by refusing to admit her suffering and I think in hindsight, it reinforced my decision to spare my family from my own burdens too.
I was strong for my Mother's sake and although my eyes were appropriately wet, I didn't break down. We followed the hearse to the cemetery and stood in an awkward semi-circle around the opening in the ground. There were so many people arriving that after a few minutes the circle expanded and people lined up in rows behind us.
My eyes were drawn to a figure across the other side of the cemetery, he walked carefully, going around the graves until he came to a stop in front of one of the headstones. I watched as he stood there with his hands in his pockets staring at the ground. I suddenly wondered if I would come here alone and stand over my Grandmother’s grave, and what would I say to her. After a few moments my eyes were pulled back to my family as the proceedings began and when I looked over later the man was gone and I saw the flash of black car drive under the large stone arch and out the gates.
It couldn’t have been him. Alex made a point of never visiting his brother’s grave on the day he had died or on the anniversary of his funeral. It just didn’t seem right and so it was always on his birthdays and at times like Christmas and it had taken a while even for him to go then. He recognised the stone arch and he had had black car at one point. He recalled her Grandmother had passed away in early June and Will’s birthday was on June 14th – it was possible. Had they been there together in the same place all those years ago?
The reception afterwards was beautiful and had the kinds of food and music my Grandmother would have appreciated. After a few hours, people began to trickle out, heading home back to their lives having paid their respects to my Grandmother and bid farewell to my family with promises of keeping in touch despite my not having seen or heard from most of them since I was a child and some I had never even met. The four of us made our way outside and pulled our coats tightly round us despite the warmth of the afternoon.
Matthew dropped me at the pavement outside my flat and I waved goodbye as they drove away. I trudged up to my door and mechanically unlocked and relocked it once inside. I had eaten only one cake all day - more for my Grandmother than out of hunger and yet I had no appetite. Walking by the kitchen I make my way to my bedroom.
Suddenly I'm aware of a noise inside the flat - it's like the mournful cry of an injured animal but more human. I freeze only to realise the sound is coming from me. And then it hits me. In the dark, alone, and like a sledgehammer in the chest. I can hardly breathe for the tightness in my lungs and I slide to the floor.
The next morning I wake in pain to I find I'd fallen asleep curled in a tight ball on the floor against my bed with only my blanket pulled over me. I awoke slowly, feeling groggy but vaguely aware any minute my mind was going to flood with memories. And it was something terrible.
My recollection of the last few days began to surface and I felt my breath choke out. My Grandmother was gone and I would never see her kind, loving face again. She often told us that she loved us all equally but each in her own special way. Once she had hugged me tightly and said ‘It may seem easier to steer clear of great sorrow or burdens in our lives, with matters of the heart, it’s all or nothing. For those that don’t open their hearts at all, I pity them since they will never know the kind of joy or true love that life can throw at us in the most unexpected ways.’
I had forgotten those words until then. I wondered what sadness had touched her life - she always seemed so happy and positive, it seemed as if she had lived a blessed life. As much as I wanted to believe her words, I think I am an exception to that rule. I gave as much I had to give and it brought only pain into my life.
With no essays or exams to distract me, I had time to think and I didn't like the direction my thoughts were going. The summer break came around and I was lost. Thankfully the one upside to using studying as a distraction and having a mediocre social life for most of the year, meant I managed to pass my year-end exams in the top five percent of my year. Even so, I was starting to realise that I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life and if I managed to finish the course, my friends and I would go our separate ways.
It only made my decision to leave university that much easier. I didn't see the point in pursuing an education while I still had no clue what I wanted to do with my life. Getting a full time job seemed like the next best option to another year at uni, and would keep me busy without the added pressure of passing a course to get me into a career I wasn’t even sure I wanted anymore. Sitting here now, I’m not sure if I feel different but it made sense to me at the time. Since my Grandmother’s funeral I had thought about life in general and then what I wanted to do with mine and struggled to come up with anything. I was afraid of everything but tried as much as I could to be strong like she had said I should.
I tried to take heed of what my Grandmother had said. I knew I had too much baggage to inflict on someone like Liam. He deserved someone whole - not damaged and indecisive. I never did confess to him how much I think I came to care for him. Well until now but I’m not sure a diary confession exactly counts.
I knew that if I was ever going to deserve a good life with a career and someone in my life then I would have to fix what was wrong with me.
Ali
Surprisingly it took less effort to convince my Mother that leaving my degree early was a good idea, than it did to talk around Kara and the rest of my little group. I had sent them a group email explaining that I was taking a year out, and for the next few days my inbox kept pinging with responses of everything from ‘What the hell are you thinking?’ to ‘Who am I going to copy from?’.
My Mother, on the other hand, asked me if I thought it was the right thing for me and when I said it was right now then she just hugged me. She agreed I could live at home as long as I got a job so I and thought about my future over the summer. The job part I had already decided on myself since I was too old for pocket money. Even a social recluse needs some funds, so that was an easy promise; the other thing I’d have to work on.
So I made the decision to leave university at least for the time being. Since my position in the bookshop had long been filled I had to look elsewhere. Now I was living at home again and didn’t have classes to go to, I also needed an excuse to get out from those four walls now and then.
It was the nights that were the worst, when I sat alone in my room, in the still of night, trying to muffle the sound of my sobs. I would wake from whatever plagued my dreams that particular night and I knew I couldn’t sit in the house every night. So the sensible option at the time seemed to be applying for bar jobs.
With zero experience, and little confidence, I didn’t have much to offer but I had become very good at putting on an act. So I bluffed my way through interview after interview until one place called me back. It was an offer of part-time work, which may build up to full-time once they had sussed me out i.e. checked I wasn’t a complete idiot with a lack of patience for drunk people.
It was an old pub that had been taken over so many times that it had been nicknamed 'The Gin Bar', since the original gin cocktail menu had been adopted and added to by every new owner and manager over the years. The place kept busy serving food during the day and holding up the ‘worse for wears’ at night. It most definitely wasn't the kind of bar any of my ex's would be seen in and was far enough out of town that I didn’t have to worry they might stop in.
My first shift was a Tuesday evening to ease me in before I was really tested on the busy weekend. The guy who would be my manager told me over the phone that the uniform was black, smart/casual, which meant my oversized blouses and leggings were pulled from my wardrobe once more. I slipped my flat, lace up boots on over my leggings and added a clip to my hair t
o at least give the impression I'd made an effort for my new job.
The first person I saw when I walked in was the same manager I had spoken to on the phone and who had interviewed me a few days prior. He was a tall, broad man in his fifties called Joe and I liked his friendly but take no bullshit manner. Now he was standing at the end of the bar with a cloth over his shoulder talking to one of the customers who was laughing at whatever he had just said.
Joe put me to work loading and unloading the ‘fancy, newfangled’ dishwasher (his words) and showed me the drinks menus and the first hour went in quickly. A guy called Ali would be in soon and he would show me the ropes.
Walking in to the bar, I noticed him immediately as did everyone he walked past as they gestured a wave at him and he returned their smiles. Ali was one of the most beautiful guys I had ever seen. He had a nice smile but it was his eyes that caught me – they were like liquid chocolate that reflected gold in the light and sat deep in his face against his dark olive skin. His hair was a mess of dark curls and he wore it pulled back off his face with a black tie.
"Seriously?" said Alex out loud to himself. He already disliked this guy - not as much as Chris obviously but this time jealously was rearing its head. This little notebook was causing into a major dent in his self-esteem, so far this was the fifth guy who had been in her thoughts. She hadn't slept with most of them which made him feel a little better but they had sat beside her, held her hand, looked in her eyes, and she had cared for them all.
He reminded himself some of them had also hurt her or let her down. None of them had really known her the way he had gotten to know her like he did, or at least how he thought he did. It was difficult to read about the physical abuse, the emotional bullying, her feelings of worthlessness and even her Father walking out which he knew had more of an impact than she had mentioned yet. Even so, for all the struggle it was to see the train wreck that was her life so far, selfishly he knew it would be cut him deeper to turn the pages and read that she had loved someone else besides him.
For the rest of the evening, Ali took me under his wing overseeing every flat pint, smashed glass and mixed up order. It didn’t feel like work at all when I’d finished my first shift successfully – by which I mean I managed not to spill drink on any customers or mess up too many orders. By the end of the first week I knew the names of most of the more popular drinks and even began to recognise a few of the regulars. Ali was helpful without looking over my shoulder the entire time and forthcoming with hints but never pushy on perfection.
“So your name, is it short for anything?” I asked Ali.
“Believe it or not, it’s actually short for Alistair.” he replied.
“Why wouldn’t I believe it?” I asked cautiously.
“Maybe because I don’t really look like an Alistair and people always think I’m joking. My grandparents were Egyptian; my Mother met my British father while she was studying and a few years later I came along.” he said.
“Alistair is a nice name, but you definitely suit Ali more.” I said.
His strong physical features were a direct contrast to his gentle personality. He was warm and had a vulnerability to him that felt familiar. The first few weeks came and went and I began to find comfort in my routine. I took on more shifts as I gained confidence and when I was home I did what I could to help my Mother.
Aside from a fixed amount of money for our distant cousins, my Grandmother’s estate had been left almost entirely to my Mother and there were a lot of belongings to go through. My brothers and I accompanied her to our Grandmother’s home that was now just a house filled with a lifetime of possessions, as though it had lost its very soul. It took almost two weeks to box up everything and my Mother decided to put it in to storage until she could bear to go through it all more carefully.
My Grandmother had left explicit instructions that the house was only bricks and mortar, and was to be sold as soon as possible and the money used by her daughter and grandchildren as they wished. The only thing she asked was that it be something that made us truly happy. I would have traded every penny to have my Grandmother back and from the looks on the faces of my brothers, I know they would have done the same. It was just the three of us now.
As August drew to a close, my Mother began talking about buying a little holiday home for us so that we could still take trips together like we used sometimes to when we went to visit our Grandmother. Matthew had already decided he would look into setting up a small business of some kind and he certainly had the confidence and ability to do that. Joshua was taking it the hardest, at least on the outside. He had been too young to remember our Father before he left us and so this was his first loss and the realisation of mortality is always such a shock when you first experience it.
I had spent the weekends and my odd days off helping with the packing up and working in the days in between. Joe had been kind enough to offer to rearrange my schedule to give me more time off, but I had already taken a few days off for the funeral and the last thing I needed was more time on my hands.
So life went on as normally as it could, although there were moments when I felt tears prick my eyes and my throat would burn and I had to bite my lip to stop from crying. Everyone was kind and sympathy cards poured through our letter box from distant relatives, neighbours, my Mother’s work colleagues, friends of my brothers, my friends from university and even a few from school that I hadn’t spoken to in over a year.
I made sure to send a ‘thank you for your thoughts’ email or text to everyone that had sent a card – there weren’t many for me so I helped my Mother send out her thank you cards to the ones who had attended the funeral. It didn’t think it was particularly a custom, but she wanted to or maybe just needed to keep busy and I could relate to that.
After a busy Friday or Saturday night shift we were always offered a free drink which I routinely declined. Usually the staff would sit on for an hour and chat amongst themselves, if I was in the mood I would serve them drinks or if I wasn’t I would head home as soon as the last glass was washed. This particular night I was still behind the bar thirty minutes after my shift had ended.
“Nina I have a favour to ask – are you free next Saturday?” asked Ali.
I knew I wasn’t on the rota and I needed any extra shifts going so I nodded quickly.
“Great I’ve got an invite to a party.” he said.
“Sure I’d be happy to cover for you and I….” I replied before he cut me off.
“No, you misunderstand; I’m asking you to come with me.” he said.
I stared at him blankly so he continues.
“I need a plus one and I am literally going to beg you if you say no so if you say yes it will save me the humiliation. You would be doing me a huge favour. Please?” he asked again.
Although it was a private conversation it was obvious there were ears pricked nearby and I watched the ripple effect unfold in front of me as word spread. And believe me, it wasn’t just me that found this unfathomable. Plenty of the girls – staff and customers - made their thoughts known later on the matter.
Ali was the kind of person you just couldn’t say no to and I felt bad about turning him down. So it was a shock when I found my mouth saying yes.
He looked delighted. “Great, it’ll be fun and you can try actually drinking some of those cocktails you love instead of serving them.” he said.
I started scrambling for a reasonable excuse to back out. “I don’t have anything to wear.” I exclaimed.
“Normally I’d find it ridiculous that a girl could say that but something tells me you’re telling the truth. No offence, but all I ever see you in is leggings and over-sized shirts.” he said.
“Well it is the uniform!” I say in my defence.
“Yes but most of the other girls get changed once they get here and afterwards, I don’t think I’ve seen you in anything but black baggy tops.” he said.
Getting dressed once a day or evening was as much as I could ma
nage at that point and it just seemed a waste of effort to me.
I looked down at my outfit and realised my wardrobe was mostly filled with variations of this ensemble. I'd taken to wearing leggings when my legs were badly bruised since jeans rubbed harshly at my skin and cotton was a little kinder against my swollen flesh. The oversized blouses also had a purpose in wearing them so no one could see when my weight fluctuated. When the bruises healed, I had spent so much effort keeping a smile on my face and focusing on my studies that I lost over a stone. I used the excuse of work hygiene for keeping my hair knotted up, when really it had lost so much of its shine and thickness that it looked terrible hanging limply around my face.
Before I moved back home, living away meant no one there to make sure I ate three meals a day and other than the one I served up to my flatmates or in the bar with my college friends so I frequently made it to dinner without anything passing my lips. I had lost my appetite somewhere between being beaten and picking up the pieces after my Grandmothers death. Before then food had always been a source of pleasure to me, it reminded me of family dinners and indulgent lunches with my Grandmother, but afterwards it was like I just couldn't find the missing ingredient to get back that sense of enjoyment.
The Suicide Diary Page 10