The Second Love of My Life

by Victoria Walters

  ‘How the hell do you put this up?’ Emma demands, bringing my attention back, and I chuckle at her struggle with one of the easels.

  ‘That one is always tricky,’ I say, remembering cursing it myself when I first got it, Lucas coming into the room to find me on the floor with it collapsed on top of me. He laughed about it for months. The curse of someone not practical being married to someone annoyingly so. ‘I know a trick,’ I tell her, taking it and managing to put it up. I had to learn to do a lot of things by myself – changing a light bulb for the first time, for instance, involved fusing all the upstairs lights one night in the cottage.

  ‘Where do you want this?’

  I look behind me as Robert follows Mick across the grass carrying a large sign. I wonder what he’ll think of my paintings at the Fair; I hope he likes them. I think back to my teacher at college saying my work was ‘technically good’ but she always seemed disappointed in what I produced, as if it was lacking something.

  ‘Mick is roping his guests in again to help, I see,’ Joe says, following my gaze.

  Emma comes over to watch Robert too. ‘I could watch him lift that all day.’

  I shake my head. ‘You’re crazy.’

  ‘So are those muscles,’ she says, nudging me in the back. I can’t help but glance at his arms beneath his shirt and silently agree with her.

  ‘I think we’re all done,’ Joe says, taking our attention away from Robert. I look at the easels and board all set up, ready for the paintings, and feel the beginnings of excitement. I’ve never seen all my work together like this, never sold it myself like this, and there are butterflies starting to flutter in my stomach. I am saying goodbye to the past with this sale, goodbye to my old work, and hopefully setting up a blank canvas for something new in the future. The sun starts to peep out from behind the clouds, lifting the green with its light, and promising a better day for the Fair.

  It feels like a sign of possibility and I’m determined to embrace it.

  ‘It’s going to be great,’ Emma says next to me.

  I hope she’s right. We head back towards her car and I steel myself to perform the final task for the stall – collecting the paintings. Which means going into the room I’ve avoided since moving into my cottage.

  Chapter Four

  When I lived with Lucas in our town house close to the beach, I used the top floor for my painting. It had three large skylights that I would open all the way even in the winter to let in the sea air and the light, and sometimes I’d be up there for hours on end, unaware of time slipping by. On dry days I’d paint outside in front of the landscapes I wanted to capture on canvas, or in our small garden at weekends with Lucas, sipping beers and barbecuing burgers at sunset, but the rest of the time that room was my sanctuary and I loved being in there.

  When I looked around my new cottage, I instantly liked the smaller second bedroom, which faced north overlooking the pretty garden, and I imagined the wonderful light that would stream in on summer mornings. It took me back to that third floor of my old house and I had a hope-filled moment that I could rediscover some of my old fervour. I filled the room with my paintings, easels, paints and brushes, ready for me to be inspired once again.

  It’s still waiting for me.

  I look at the staircase and take a deep breath to steady my nerves. I move slowly up, gripping the wooden rail until I reach the landing and stand outside the closed door. I hover outside, chewing on a fingernail.

  It’s so stupid to be scared of this room. But it holds so much of myself inside it. The woman who had dreams and passions and love, who wasn’t scared about the future, and who wasn’t alone.

  I cling on to that girl as I push open the door and look at the paintings propped up around me. I am instantly drawn to two of Talting church. It sits on a slight hill overlooking the town – a small, grey stone building surrounded by lush grass. Bluebells line the path to the large oak door in the spring, which is when I painted these. I sink to the floor on my knees in front of them. I have avoided the church since Lucas died. It’s where we got married. And it was also the place his funeral was held.

  There is no other building that holds both the happiest and worst days of my life.

  I feel tears start to prick behind my eyes as I remember our wedding there. It was the wedding I always knew we’d have – the whole town showed up to see us get married. The white lace dress hadn’t felt as uncomfortable as I had imagined it would, and when Lucas’s eyes lit up I knew it had been the perfect choice. Lucas’s dad Graham walked me down the aisle. He’s always felt more like my father than my father-in-law. He and Lucas’s mum Gloria were so proud watching their son get married. Since I had no parents of my own, they embraced me as part of their family and were so happy for us.

  We both agreed it had been a perfect day.

  But his funeral is an event I never want to think about. He had his whole life ahead of him. We had planned to spend that life together. Then it was ripped away from us. We were supposed to have forever but we’d only been married for two years when he died.

  A sob catches in the back of my throat and the tears flow freely as I prop my knees up to my chest so I can lean on them and let out all my grief. Seeing the painting of the church makes it all raw again. I’ve tried so hard to not think of him like that – inside the polished wood coffin next to the altar we were married in front of. But his funeral will be forever burnt on to my soul. I didn’t think I could bear to go but his parents begged me to, and I couldn’t let them down. They had lost their only child. I owed it to them to be there. They wanted me to speak too but I just couldn’t do it. I felt like I had disappointed them, although they were so kind about it, saying they understood. I couldn’t face talking about Lucas in the past tense. I couldn’t face saying goodbye.

  Gloria asked for one of my paintings of him. She had it propped up at the altar. It’s still in their house but I couldn’t keep any of the other ones I painted of him. It was just too hard to have them around me. I sold them just a few weeks after his death. There weren’t many, considering all the years I had to paint him. Lucas would never stay still long enough for me to capture him; he was always doing something, always talking. The only time I could paint him was to watch him do something when he didn’t know I was watching. He would always act so surprised when I showed him a picture of himself, as though he couldn’t believe I could find him an interesting subject to study.

  And now all the rest will be gone too. All purged. A life in paintings surrounds me and I marvel at the power images have. The power to make you feel things. It’s why I grew up loving art, why I wanted to create it myself, and why now I’m terrified of it.

  I haven’t been back to the church since. On the first anniversary of his death, Gloria and Graham asked me to come to his grave with them but I couldn’t get out of the car. I hated not being able to be as strong as they were that day – laying flowers and saying a prayer for their son, whilst I was a wreck. I will never forget how brave they were.

  I wipe my eyes and stand up, brushing away dust from the floor that I’ve neglected to clean. Emma will be picking me up soon for our shift at Joe’s, so I tear myself away from the paintings and the memories they wrench from me. I check the time and wonder what to do with myself. That’s one thing I discovered after losing Lucas. Grief makes you both restless and listless. It’s as if I forgot what I used to do to fill my time. It stretches out endlessly sometimes, making hours feel more like days, whereas before my life moved at a rapid pace.

  I move downstairs and curl up on the sofa and look up at my mantelpiece. All the photos from the town house I shared with Lucas are still packed in boxes hidden in the cupboard under the stairs. I haven’t been able to put them up here.

  I think back to when I first lost Lucas. Emma suggested I should go to see a therapist after staying on their sofa in my pyjamas for what f
elt like months. I snapped at her, not seeing how far away from myself I was. I went into the bathroom and looked into the mirror and didn’t recognise myself. I thought about Lucas being able to look down on us all and I knew how devastated he’d be to see me like that. I ran a bath straight away. It was a small thing but having a bath and putting on clothes did make me feel a bit better. And that’s what it’s been like really – a slow climb back to feeling human again after almost self-destructing.

  I thought maybe I’d be able to handle grief better the second time around, having lost my mum after her year-long fight to stay with me. I even started seeing a therapist then on the school’s insistence, but I only went a couple of times. They didn’t know my mum. I felt better being around people who knew her, who missed her like I did. And I’d known it was coming. I had prepared as best I could. Everything had been arranged.

  But Lucas’s death was so sudden by comparison. There had been nothing to prepare me for it.

  Somehow with my mum, it was about the past. I mourned for all the moments we’d had together, everything she had taught me, the times she had comforted me when I was sad or ill, the advice she’d given me about Lucas. With Lucas, I mourned for the future. The seemingly empty black hole stretching ahead of me after all of our plans went up in smoke.

  It was the second anniversary just a couple of months ago. I still didn’t want to go to his grave, so Emma, John and I went to his favourite surfing spot. We took blankets and a picnic and drank his favourite beer, toasting him on a chilly but sunny February afternoon. It was so sad that he wasn’t with us but we managed to smile, talking about the times we’d had as a foursome and silly things that had happened. It was good to remember the happy times and talk about him with them. I realised that however hard it is to think about him, it’s better than not thinking about him. That was a step in the right direction. I went back to work at the bar, moved into the cottage and was planning the Easter Fair sale, and for the first time in a long while, my mind was occupied with more than just the loss of him, although my heart was still full of it.

  Is still full of it.

  The grandfather clock in the corner announces a new hour. Gloria and Graham gave it to me as a moving-in present, although they haven’t been to see the cottage yet. I think it’s still too hard for them to see me living somewhere without Lucas. It’s been in Gloria’s family for generations and it makes me feel as if I’ve stepped back in time when it jingles loudly in the silence. Time is a strange thing.

  The doorbell chimes soon after the clock. Emma puts her hands on her hips when I open the front door to her. ‘It’s still weird to have you answer the door,’ she says, stepping into the hall. She smiles when she sees the paintings. ‘I’ve always loved this one,’ she says, pointing to one of the beach.

  ‘What do you mean, it’s weird?’ I ask, pulling on my jacket and picking up my bag. It’s so annoying when she drops in a comment like that then moves on like you weren’t supposed to have heard her say it.

  ‘You never used to let me in. You’d usually be painting with that hideous country music you like so much at ear-splitting volume. I stood outside for half an hour once. I had to call Lucas in the end,’ she says, looking guilty for having mentioned it.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with country music,’ I say, opening the door and leading us out. I used to love getting lost in the music as I painted. I realise I miss it. It feels strange to miss something other than Lucas. But it’s another example of other things I lost along with him.

  I lock the cottage behind us and follow Emma to her car. It’s still light outside, the days getting longer as we creep towards summer, and the promise of a new season surrounds us as we drive to work and I smile, because I’ve always loved summer in Talting.

  That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.

  And somehow that makes me feel more hopeful than I have in a long time.

  Chapter Five

  ‘Look who’s back,’ Emma says under her breath as we walk into Joe’s. I glance behind the counter where Adam is serving drinks. Adam is at university in London but stays here most holidays to work for Joe.

  Adam looks over as we walk in and a big smile takes over his face, which, when added to his mop of light brown curls, makes him look like an adorable puppy. ‘How are you, Rose?’ He gives me a look full of scrutiny and I shift uneasily.

  Emma rolls her eyes. ‘Hi, Emma. Hi, Adam,’ she mutters as she walks into the kitchen. She thinks he has a crush on me. I can’t believe he does; I’m five years older than him, after all, but he does have an annoying habit of always being around me.

  ‘I’m fine. How’s university going?’

  He grins. ‘I’m loving it.’

  I smile politely and turn as Joe pokes his head out of his small office and says he needs to see me. I go over and he shuts the door behind us. There’s just room for a desk and chair in here, so I stand by the door, waiting for Joe to speak.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay to work tonight? I’m fine if you want to take the night off.’

  I shake my head. I didn’t work for almost six months after Lucas died. I can’t take a step back by shying away from it tonight. ‘In a way I’m glad I was here to . . . stop them. I didn’t know if I wanted to work in a bar again, you know that, but I helped stop something that could have been . . . well, we know what can happen, and that felt, not good, but like a piece of justice for Lucas. Does that make sense?’

  ‘It does. I’ve put up a poster in the bar about drink driving, to raise awareness and remind people there are other ways to get home. I don’t want you to have to deal with it again. And you’re sure? Because you promised to let me know if things were too difficult for you to work when you came back, remember?’

  I sigh, a little frustrated that he doesn’t trust me with this. ‘Will you let me decide for myself, Joe? I don’t understand why people think I can’t make decisions anymore.’ I instantly regret snapping at him when his face falls. I suck in a calming breath. ‘I don’t want to sit at home alone, I want to be here.’

  ‘I’m just trying to look out for you. We all are. Lucas would have wanted us to, right? He would have killed me if I stood back and did nothing,’ he says, trying to lighten the mood.

  ‘He wouldn’t have hurt a fly,’ I say.

  ‘I don’t know, he could be pretty fierce when it came to you. Remember those drunks trying it on one summer and Lucas throwing them out?’

  ‘I forgot about that,’ I say, thinking back to how he reacted when one of them climbed over the counter to the bar where I was and tried to feel me up.

  Joe gets up and slings an arm around me. ‘Come on then. Emma will not be happy if we leave her out there alone at our busiest time.’

  I lead Joe out into the bar where Emma waves at me from the CD player, a grin on her face. Taking advantage of Joe being out of the way, she has replaced the Beatles with Taylor Swift, the only artist in my collection that she ever tolerated listening to with me.

  I haven’t listened to this album in two years. It was my favourite and I used to play it all the time, making Lucas listen to it too, rolling down the windows of his car and singing along loudly, much to his amusement, as I really can’t sing at all. I’m probably one of the few people who prefer her country sound to her newer songs.

  ‘Rose,’ she cries, grabbing my hands and pulling me from my spot. I have to laugh as she waves our hands in time with the music. This song is just impossible not to dance to and I feel my hips moving almost by themselves. God, I have missed this.

  ‘What is this?’ Joe demands from behind us.

  ‘This is real music,’ I tell him, laughing as Emma spins us around. My eyes meet Robert’s across the bar. He’s just walked in and is smiling at us.

  Emma finally drops my hands. ‘When I hear this song, I always think of you,’ she says to me, out of br
eath from our attempt at dancing. Joe turns it down a bit and she pokes her tongue out at him.

  ‘I’m happy to be known as the town’s country fan,’ I tell her.

  ‘What got you into that music?’ Robert asks, looking amusedly at us both, as I lean against the counter to get my breath back. Joe slides him a beer across the bar.

  ‘Well, my mum loved the old stuff like Patsy Cline. She’d play it endlessly. And then I started to bring home newer artists and we were both hooked by it. I love the stories. It’s amazing how they tell a story in like three minutes. It’s always been my painting music. I’d like people to look at something I’ve painted and see a story in it.’ I flex my fingers. They haven’t held a brush for so long.

  ‘It’s amazing the power that music can have,’ Robert replies. He looks at me as if his whole focus is on me in this moment and I feel myself staring back at him, giving him the same courtesy. The bar around us slips into white noise.

  ‘So, what kind of music do you like?’

  ‘My favourite band is Coldplay but I like anything really. Except jazz.’

  ‘Why not jazz?’

  He swirls the beer around in his glass and then reaches up to run a hand through his hair. ‘It’s my dad’s favourite. Have you been to many concerts?’

  I don’t miss the sudden attempt to change the conversation. I wonder what the story is with his dad.

  ‘Not many. A few years ago, Lucas took me to see Taylor Swift for my birthday. I think he screamed louder than me.’

  That night was so much fun. I listen to the song playing behind me and remember being awed by her singing it with just her guitar a few feet away from us, Lucas’s arm around me, his deep voice singing along in my ear. It was a small concert at the start of her career and it felt like a special moment for all of us.

  I leave Robert to serve drinks, letting the music heal a piece of my soul I didn’t realise I had let slip away. I feel an itch to go home and listen to more of my favourite songs, something I haven’t done in a long time. I’m grateful to Emma for playing this tonight.