A Virtual Affair

by Tracie Podger

  “I’m glad for you, I’m glad you found the courage to pursue happiness. If I’m honest, I’m jealous.”

  Not a sound could be heard, other than the click of my jaw as it fell open.

  “I don’t imagine you’re jealous of my situation right now,” I said and added a chuckle to be sure she realised I wasn’t serious.

  “You’re free of Michael, how ever hard that has been for you. I only wish I’d had your courage when I was younger.”

  “Oh, it’s been hard. I’ve lost my son, I’ve lost my house, my daughter, and I’ve lost my friend. Whether I deserve that or not, I’m not sure, but Michael has never been faithful to me our entire marriage. I find it unbelievable how heartless he is. He buried our son knowing that wasn’t his wishes. He tried to keep me, his mother, from his funeral.”

  I had to check myself; my voice was starting to rise in anger. It wasn’t her fault per se, but she sure hadn’t made much effort to defend me, or Ben’s wishes in my mind.

  “We argued, Jayne. And whether you’ll believe me or not, Albert fought for a cremation as well. Do you want the truth? I dislike my son, and that’s a hard thing to not only admit, but deal with.”

  I reached forwards and took one of her hands in mine. She felt fragile under my touch. I’d never seen her so vulnerable.

  “Then we welcome you to our club,” I said, then laughed.

  She smiled at me. “How is your friend? Stefan, isn’t it?”

  I ignored the raised eyebrow glare from Carla.

  “I haven’t spoken to him since…well, since that day. I’m too broken, Francis.”

  I watched her finish her tea. She patted my hand and then stood.

  “Don’t lose that chance at love, Jayne. One day, you’ll wake up as old as me and bitterly regret your life. I know I do. I loved once, a long time ago, and I let him go. It was the worst thing I ever did.”

  With that, she gave Carla a smile, ran her hand over Benjamin’s head and shrugged on her coat.

  “Can we stay in touch?” she asked.

  “Of course, I’d like that.”

  “And you, young man, I’ll be seeing you soon,” she said to Benjamin.

  “Thank you for the tea. I’ll bring a cup and saucer next time. Kerry, may I visit you soon?”

  She’d given Carla a wink when she’d spoken and it was laughter that followed us as I walked her to the front door.

  As she opened her car door, she turned to me. She placed her hand on my arm—the first act of affection I’d ever received from her.

  “Ring him. I saw the way he looked at you that night. Don’t lose that. It’s never too late.”

  Francis climbed into her immaculate vintage Jaguar and reversed from the drive.

  “Well, fuck that,” Carla said when I’d returned to the kitchen.

  “I know. That is about the most surprised I’ve ever been,” I said. “What a wily old bird she is.”

  “Do you think we could have the milk jug and the sugar bowl now she’s gone,” Kerry said.

  For the first time in a long while, we laughed, really laughed, and I didn’t feel guilty about that. Ben would have found that hilarious himself.

  The house hunting started in earnest and soon turned into despair. There was no way I could afford to stay local and I didn’t relish the thought of the boxes masquerading as houses on the new estate. Spring edged its way into summer and I grew restless. Carla’s life had been on hold for far too long and the persistent references to Stefan were upsetting me.

  I knew he still called her, although not as frequently, and his last email to me had been months back. A part of me regretted my decision to fight my depression alone, yet another knew that it would have been impossible, for Stefan and for me, had we stayed in contact. He would fret while he was home, I’d miss him, and he would end up having to choose from his life in Denmark or his life with me. That was a decision I’d never want him to have to make.

  It was an email from Tom, letting me know the boys were back and they were badgering Nanna Nora, as they’d nicknamed her, into learning to surf that had a thought run through my mind.

  I’d missed Nora and Jim, I missed the boys, and I sure as hell missed the cottage. I wondered…

  While I had the laptop opened I searched for the website. I could have checked my emails but that would mean seeing Stefan’s name. Although I’d never opened them, I hadn’t deleted them either. It was comforting to know they were there, and selfishly I missed them when they’d dried up.

  I fired off an email without telling Carla what I’d done. I wanted to check availability before I told her I was heading for the cottage, alone.

  That place was the last hurdle in my mind. It was where I’d had the best and worst experiences of my life. I wanted to walk in the front door and remember both Stefan and Ben.

  I packed up the car after having it serviced with some shopping and the dog a week after deciding I needed to visit Cornwall. Carla had been upset. Memories of her having to make that drive to collect me and then, miraculously, getting us home under such terrible circumstances must have been whirling around her mind. Mum thought it was a good idea. “Laying the last of my ghosts to rest,” she’d said.

  “I’ll be fine, Carla. We need some space. I know that sounds terrible, but your life is on hold with me being here, and I’m not about to break down. What I did wasn’t planned. I don’t think I ever wanted to die. It won’t happen again.”

  “You’ll ring as soon as you get there, though, and you’ve left Nora’s number in case of…well, you know, emergencies.”

  “In case you want to check up on me, you mean?”

  “I can’t help it, Jayne. You scared me, and that’s not something I’ll get over anytime soon.”

  “I know, and I’ll always be sorry about that. But I need to do this. I won’t have any spare money once I’ve found somewhere to live so this is my last chance.”

  We hugged and I climbed in the car. It saddened me to realise there was a crack in our friendship, one that may or may not ever be repaired, and I believed some time apart would do us the world of good. I had to prove to her that I was capable of being on my own. I had a lot to prove to a lot of people.

  I took the journey from memory, passing Stonehenge on the A303 and eventually, as the sun was setting, found myself on the Atlantic Highway. I did the thing I’d done on all the other times I’d driven that road—I unwound the window and breathed in the sea air. Immediately, I felt my shoulders relax and a smile form on my lips. As I drove the last few miles, I knew I’d done the right thing. I felt like I was going home.

  “Helloooooo,” I heard echo down the lane.

  A flashlight zigzagged from side to side.

  “Nora, is that you?” I called out.

  “Of course it’s me. Who else is mad enough to walk down here at night just to see my favourite girl.”

  She pulled me into a hug, petting Dini at the same time. I hadn’t got through the front door of the cottage.

  “Oh, it’s so good to see you. Now, you unpack, I’ll make tea and you can tell me all that’s happened.”

  I nodded and turned my head; I didn’t want her to see the tears that had formed in my eyes. I realised how much I’d come to love her as a friend and I’d missed her.

  By the time I’d taken a bag upstairs, sorted the dog out, she had the tea on the table and my shopping unpacked.

  “Now, what the frig has been happening? You’ve had us all so worried here. Jim was in a mind to drive up to Kent to see you, you know?”

  “Oh, Nora. I don’t know where to start.”

  “The beginning would be good, and I’ve got all night.”

  I did what she asked; I started at the beginning, right at the beginning. I totally unloaded on her, from the time I met Michael to that morning.

  I was drained. I’d cried and she’d held my hand but hadn’t said a word for the two or three hours I’d spoken. Other than to refresh our tea and to make us both a sand
wich, she’d stayed with me. It felt cathartic, I felt cleansed and lighter in my body. I hadn’t realised how much I needed to let that out. I’d told her things I hadn’t told my therapist.

  I chuckled. “Carla would be pissed off at the amount of money she paid for my therapy and all I needed to do was come to you.”

  “Ah, there’s a place for shrinks and there’s place for friends. Now, Stefan. I imagine everyone has told you what a fool you’ve been, but you know what? I think you made the right decision for you, not that I agree with it, of course,” she said with a chuckle.

  “I can’t message him now, Nora. It’s been too long, and I don’t know what to say. I feel like I threw him to the wolves that day. He loved me and I pushed him away. I was scared to be honest, scared that if I had kept in contact at some point he would have had to make a choice—be with me or with his family. Because I think I would have been too needy of him.”

  “And now?”

  “And now, I don’t know just yet. I’ll never stop loving him, but I need to recover fully, and I haven’t yet.”

  “There’s nothing stopping you contacting him though, getting that friendship back. You forgave him for running away. I’m sure he’ll do the same.”

  I hadn’t thought about it that way. I still had some bridges to repair and I had to start with my daughter first.

  Nora left with a promise that we’d catch up the following day. I worried about her walking back up the lane in the dark but she’d waved my concern away. She’d been doing it for years but she would call to say she was safely home.

  After she called, I opened the back door and sat in the garden with a cigarette. The smell and sound of the sea soothed me. Dini walked around the garden, claiming it by cocking his leg on every plant while I sat and felt the world that had been carried on my shoulders slowly roll away.

  I’d already texted Carla, Kerry and my mum to say I had arrived safely, so I turned off my phone, called the dog in and headed to bed.

  I climbed the stairs and hesitated at the bedroom door. Although I’d taken my bag up earlier, I’d dumped it outside the room. I stood and looked at the bed. Stefan had told me he’d loved me in that bed. Memories flooded my mind. Perhaps if the bedding had been different I wouldn’t have grown so upset, but I cried as I stripped my clothing and cried even more as I climbed under the duvet.

  I hugged the pillow he had laid his head on and whispered into it.

  “Jeg elsker dig.”

  Did I feel terrible I was crying for him and not Ben? Yes and no.

  Mourning for my son went beyond tears. I’d sobbed for days initially, and I still shed tears for him, but I was hollow inside. A part of me was missing and that would never change, never grow back, and never mend. I’d live on, obviously, but I’d never have the child I made, I’d given life to, given my own blood to, and I’d come to accept that. If I hadn’t, I’d be dead.

  I slept in late the following morning. It was the sound of Dini whining and a bashing on the back door that woke me. I struggled out of bed and pulled on some clothes before looking out the bedroom window.

  The boys stood in the garden. I opened it to call down. Tom waved a bag of something at me.

  I unlocked the door and received hugs and a bag of pastries.

  “So, before we come in, are you still mad?” Greg said.

  I laughed at his openness. “No, and thank you for your emails. I want to hear all your adventures.”

  The boys sat at the table and I made tea to go with the pastries. They filled me in on their time back in Australia. I loved talking with them, listening to their antics, and at no time did I feel they were judging me on my depression. It was refreshing to have such banter about it.

  “So, what are your plans?” Tom asked.

  “I’m just going to relax this week, read, chill out on the beach and sleep a lot.”

  “Surf?”

  “Maybe, we’ll see.”

  The boys left soon after to open up the surf shop and get in the water. I was left with a smile on my face. I hadn’t genuinely smiled in a long time.

  For most of the morning I sat in the garden with my notebook and wrote. I watched holidaymakers set up, sunbathe and paddle in the sea. I watched people laughing, playing ball and children rock pooling. I wrote those people into my notebook, creating short stories around them. I had a box full of notebooks and I’d decided, as part of my week away, I’d transfer them to the laptop, make some kind of story from them all. It would be a project I could be proud of. I also decided I was going to write another letter to Casey. Now that Francis seemed to be on my side, I hoped she might be able to pass it on.

  I sat in the garden every morning and typed my stories into one. It was my life in fiction. There were parts that brought fresh tears to my eyes and parts that had me chuckling out loud. In that one week I’d written over forty thousand words. Something happened to me in the process. I fell in love with me again. I read about me, and my life, in a totally objective way, and I became addicted to writing. I’d wake in the night with an idea and scribble it down on my notepad. I walked the beach and dictated thoughts into my phone. I wondered what people thought of me as I paced, getting excited by my plots.

  As the week wore on, and after spending my afternoons either catching up with the boys or Nora and Jim, I’d made a decision. I called the travel agent and asked if I could extend my holiday. As much as I didn’t want to leave the cottage, if it wasn’t available, I’d take another. Thankfully it was available, in fact, it would be the last week the agents were responsible for the cottage. It was coming off their books and that saddened me a little.

  “Did you know the cottage is coming off the travel agents books?” I said to Nora over a cup of tea.

  “No, I wonder why. I know the owners are never here. I have their phone number. I could give them a ring and see if they’re placing it elsewhere.”

  “That would be great. I called Carla earlier. I think she’s a little worried as to why I’m extending my stay. Did she call you?”

  “She did. I told her you were happy, getting a tan, and not killing yourself.”

  I chuckled. “Did she believe you?”

  “She said she might pop down for a surprise visit. I took that as code to check up on you. Maybe I should take a photo and send it to her, show her that you are indeed alive and kicking.”

  I laughed some more. “I don’t want to leave here. I don’t know why, but I feel totally at home. I feel like I belong and I can be myself. I know that sounds terrible bearing in mind what she, and my mum and Kerry, have done for me but…”

  “I know what you mean. There’s something about this place that just captures your heart and holds on. When Jim and me came, that first time just for a holiday, I felt the same. It took a lot of persuasion to convince him to pack up and move but we’ve never looked back and regretted our move.”

  Nora left to head back to her shop and I continued to write. I wrote until my hands ached, until my shoulders and back were screaming at me to change my posture. And I loved every second of it. I poured myself onto the pages and it felt cleansing. I had no idea what I was doing, of course. I hadn’t even bothered to Google structure or punctuation and flicked back and forth to the dictionary many times.

  It was the following day that my life was to take a dramatic change of route.

  “Guess what?” Nora said as she huffed and puffed up the garden path.

  “Why didn’t you come in the front door?” I asked.

  “I don’t know really, but I’m here now, and guess what?”

  I shook my head a little and smiled. Nora had a key, she normally let herself in the front door. That day she’d walked a little further down the lane to the beach entrance, along and up the little steps to the back garden. I was sat, as usual, writing at the metal garden table with Dini lying by my feet soaking up the morning sun.

  “What?” I asked, knowing I’d never guess.

  “The cottage is up for sale.�
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  I looked sharply over at her as she sat opposite me.

  “Oh!”

  My heart sunk a little. “Do you think the new owner will keep it as a holiday cottage?”

  “I don’t know, no ones bought it yet. They want me and Jim to still care take.”

  I made my way to the kitchen and put the kettle on for a cup of tea. While I waited for it to boil, I looked around. The whitewashed walls needed a coat of paint, some of the windows needed replacing and, of course, the heating system was non-existent. Outside, it was weather beaten. The West Coast could be brutal in the winter; the trees along the lane grew at an angle due to the strength of the wind. The furniture was dated and, although I loved the cottage, it did have an unloved feel about it. I wondered what it would be worth.

  “Who are they selling it with?” I asked as I took the tea outside.

  “I didn’t ask. I could,” she said. I saw the twinkle in her eye as she caught my line of thought. “And I imagine they would do a deal if there were no estate agents involved,” she added.

  We drank our tea, chatted about the shop and my writing. Nora was excited to read what I’d written. It hadn’t crossed my mind to show it to anyone, it was just my way of getting all the crap out of my head. I let her have a look at a couple of paragraphs while we sat. She chuckled and laughed at a couple of scenes.

  “I love it. You should write it up properly. And you should correct some of that punctuation. I might be able to help with that.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It’s not going anywhere once it’s finished,” I replied with a laugh.

  “Why not? Who knows, you could be the next book of the week on Richard and Judy.”

  Richard and Judy were daytime television show hosts and had recently started a book club. I’d found out they actually lived not a million miles away as well.

  “Now that I doubt. But thank you for the vote of confidence. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “Well, I best be off, and I want to read some more. Interweb it to me.”