Bridge of Hope

by Lisa J. Hobman

  Angus trotted over and licked my face and I nuzzled his fur, inhaling his familiar doggy smell. After fussing with my canine friend for a while I managed to drag my lead-like body from the floor and went to the kitchen to drown my sorrows once again.

  ~~~

  Mallory swapped shifts to avoid me for the next week. Stella apologised, but of course it wasn’t her fault. I didn’t go into detail but I think she must’ve guessed what had happened, seeing as she wasn’t her usual interfering self. Stella liked to fix things but this was one thing that couldn’t be fixed. I saw Mallory briefly when we did our shift changeover, but we were reduced to business transactions only. This barrel needs changing… We need to order more of that, etc. Seeing her always saddened me and continually reminded me of what I’d lost through my own stupidity. But it was better than not seeing her at all. The breakdown of my other relationships had been out of my hands. With this one—if you could even call it a relationship—the onus was completely on me.

  When the For Sale board went up outside Mallory’s house, I went home after my evening shift at the pub and cried myself to sleep like a fucking teenage girl.

  Pathetic.

  But I couldn’t help how I felt. It was a dull, nagging pain that knotted my insides with regret and shame. I knew I’d lost her for good. She’d be moving back to Yorkshire, no doubt, and I’d never see her again.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  During early September my unwanted guest arrived. Alice breezed back into my life like we’d never been apart. She took great delight in hugging me at every given opportunity and linking arms with me anytime we stepped out of the front door. She was staying at the pub on my request but insisted on cooking me breakfast at home every morning so we could “talk”; except her idea of talking consisted mainly of her flirting with and touching me. At first I was so fucking depressed about Mallory and how things had ended that I couldn’t be arsed to argue with her for being in my space, but a week into her visit and I was getting more and more pissed off with her as the days passed.

  Yet another breakfast conversation began with me trying to sort out the important matters. “Alice, we need to talk about this divorce.”

  “Oh… yes… yes, we do. Anyway, there’s more bacon if you’d like some. Then we could maybe go for a walk.”

  “And figure out what we need to do to end our marriage.”

  She laughed, shrugging of my comment. “Oh, come on, Mister Grumpy. I think you should show me around. Let me see what it is about this place that you love so much.”

  “What I love so much is that you live so far away,” I chuntered loudly enough for her to hear. “And the fact that I finally have genuine people around me who don’t stab me in the back.”

  She ignored my direct jab and breezily asked, “Should I make more toast?”

  I slid my plate away. Suddenly bereft of appetite. “Alice, I don’t want you to come here anymore. Let’s just agree on the divorce proceedings and then we can both move on, eh?” I was just about at the end of my tether and had lost count of the numerous times in the past week that I had told her I wasn’t interested. What made things worse was that I was angry with myself for allowing her to wheedle her way into my life again so easily.

  I had to get out of the house.

  I grabbed my hoody. “I’m going out. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

  When I said I was going for a walk, you’d have thought I’d asked her to renew our vows. The excitement on her face pissed me off. “Yes! Just what I wanted to do. Lovely. I’ll grab my jacket.”

  I had meant to go alone. But of course that wasn’t an option. Alice didn’t seem to understand the concept of no. She never had.

  She skipped down the driveway like a giddy teenager, her arm linked in mine, but I stayed silent and uninterested. Whatever I said she ignored, so I resigned myself to the fact that arguing with her was futile. I hadn’t the energy for it. As we approached the village I told her I wanted to call into the pub and speak to Stella about my shifts and maybe doing some more gigs.

  But as the bridge came into sight my heart almost stopped. Mallory was on the bridge, staring at us with a furrowed brow. I guessed she was wondering who my blonde companion was.

  As we approached her I was taken aback by how beautiful she looked. But then she always did. Even when she was doing her Gene Simmons impersonation. The memory of our early encounter made me smile.

  I swallowed hard but didn’t clear my throat and so my voice came out croaky. “Hi, Mallory.”

  “Greg.” Her fake smile was brief.

  Fuck, I’m going to have to introduce them. “Mallory… erm… this is Alice, Alice this is Mallory.”

  Mallory’s eyes widened in horror and I felt like shit.

  “Hi Mallory, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Alice lied as she held out her hand. I hadn’t told her anything. She was just good at reading people. And it was probably obvious who Mallory was by our reaction to each other.

  “I’m sure you have,” Mallory replied with an acidic tone as she extracted her hand.

  “We were just taking a walk, you know, clearing the cobwebs,” I told her.

  I could see sadness in her eyes as she stepped away. “Lovely. Well, enjoy yourselves. I need to get going.” She dashed away, taking my heart with her.

  Once she’d gone I turned to Alice. “Look, I’m going to wait for Mallory. She and I need to talk.”

  Alice folded her arms across her chest and scowled. “I think our talk is more important than the one you want to have with your bit on the side.”

  Her snide comment made my blood boil and I gritted my teeth. “Don’t ever call her that again. You and I are married on paper only. And the sooner you realise that, the better.”

  She huffed and stormed off, which was a relief as it gave me the opportunity to speak to Mallory alone. I knew she’d have to walk by me when she left the shop so I plonked myself down at one of the tables and waited.

  A few minutes later and she appeared. My heart began to race. “Mallory, can you talk?”

  She sat down opposite me and there began a very awkward and strained conversation. She was angry; it was evident in her harsh tone of voice, folded arms and furrowed brow. I had done this to her.

  But after a few moments of trying to be pleasant, her attitude got to me. “Why do you have to be so hostile, Mallory? Nothing has changed for me. I wish you’d realise that.”

  “It’s of no consequence to me how you feel. How is your wife liking it here?”

  Ouch. That was meant to sting and it really did. “Okay, we’re being like that, are we? I really thought we had something a little more mature, Mallory. I thought there were feelings on both sides of this. Clearly I was wrong.” And clearly she wasn’t prepared to forgive and forget. But what did I really expect her to do?

  She cocked her head to one side and snarled at me. “Greg, you’re married. You kept that fact from me just as I was about to give myself to you. Whilst I was still grieving for the real love of my life. Excuse me if I’m little indignant.”

  Okay, I deserved that too. “Can we at least be civil? Or maybe even friends? We got along so well, Mallory. Don’t you miss that? I know I do.”

  “It’s irrelevant. I can’t trust you. How can we possibly be friends?”

  “Okay, well, it was worth a try.” At that point I felt the familiar, physical pain return to my stomach and my chest. I looked down at the table, the three feet of gnarled and splintered wood that created an impenetrable barrier between us may as well have been three miles. The scars on its surface evidence of the battering it had taken, just like the invisible but ever-present scars on mine and Mallory’s relationship. I longed to reach out and touch her but clenched my fists instead. “Will you do me one thing? Will you tell me if you do sell the house? I would at least like a chance to say goodbye.”

  She stood from the table and I gazed up at her. But she returned my gaze with regret in her eyes. “Greg, we said goodbye that
day in August.” And with that final nail in the coffin, she walked away from me.

  ~~~

  When I returned home Alice was waiting, arms folded. I heaved a defeated sigh. “Look, Alice, I’m not in the mood to fight, okay? I’m playing tonight and I want to run through a couple of songs before I go in, so can we… just… not?”

  Her eyes softened and she walked toward me. Stopping a couple of steps away, she reached out and stroked my arm. “It didn’t go well, then?”

  “That’s a fucking understatement. The fact that I told her I’m in love with her and then the morning after finished things off with “Oh, and by the way, I’m still married” was the fucking final straw. I can’t blame her. Can you?”

  She closed the gap between us and slipped her arms around my neck. “She doesn’t deserve you, Greg.” Her voice was a soft whisper filled with longing.

  “And you do?” I asked incredulously as I grasped her wrists firmly and removed her arms from my body. Shock registered on her face at my actions, and so to further drive my point home, I moved my hands to the tops of her arms and physically removed her from my path.

  I took the stairs two at a time, entered my bedroom, and slammed the door behind me. Grabbing Rhiannon from the stand, I walked over and sat on the edge of my bed.

  Music. I needed music.

  ~~~

  Later that evening I arrived at the pub to prepare for my gig. Alice had followed me like some fucking lost puppy dog and pulled a chair up beside me as I checked the tuning on my guitar. She began to talk to me about people she was still in contact with back home—people that I knew too. It was nice to hear about old friends, I suppose, but that was as far as it went. I had no interest in keeping in contact with anyone from my past. Least of all Alice. We were over. She needed to understand that.

  Mallory had arrived and gone straight behind the bar without even saying hello. Alice leaned in and whispered, “That Melanie is staring at us.”

  I glanced over. “Her name is Mallory.” As I finished speaking, the glass Mallory was drying slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor. Before Alice could protest I was beside Mallory. “Hey, are you okay?”

  She huffed. “Greg, it’s just broken glass. I’m fine.”

  I grabbed the dustpan and brush from on top of the dishwasher. “Let me help you.”

  She snatched it from my hands. “Greg, just go. You’re supposed to be singing, aren’t you?” It was clear my presence wasn’t appreciated.

  “Look, I’ve said sorry about everything. What else am I meant to do?” I asked in exasperation.

  “Nothing. There is nothing you can do. Just go!” She was on the verge of angry tears and so I stepped away with a heavy heart and left her to it.

  When the time came I took my usual position, ready to play. The pub was crowded and I was aware that many people had come out especially to see me, which was a bit surreal to be honest. Greeting the patrons as I always did, I reminded them that singing along wasn’t appreciated; but this time I didn’t feel the humour in the comment. I continued on with my introduction. Having chosen the first song especially for the most important person in the room, I hoped she listened to the words as she had done when I sent her the CD. I desperately wanted her to understand how I felt.

  “I know you all are gradually discovering how eclectic ma taste in music is. Well, just to prove the point even further, I’m going to kick off with a little bit of Chicago. The band, not the musical.” I managed a chuckle and the crowd laughed along. “This is a beautiful song called ‘Hard to Say I’m Sorry’.”

  I began to sing with my eyes closed and tried very hard to rein my emotions in, but even I could hear the rawness of my voice. Opening my eyes, I fixed them on Mallory behind the bar and willed her with all my might to look at me. To see me like she said she did before when we came so close. But she completely avoided my gaze and eventually, just after the middle of the song, she walked out of the bar toward the ladies’ toilets.

  When my song finished she still wasn’t back. I leaned down to take a swig of my drink in the hope that it would dislodge the lump of knotted sadness from my throat. When she appeared again I could see that she’d been crying. I wanted to hold her in my arms and kiss her tears away. But it wasn’t an option.

  Alice appeared from toward the bar and kissed the top of my head. I glanced over and realised that Stella had seen her do it. I hoped Mallory hadn’t noticed, as I didn’t want her getting the wrong impression regardless of what she felt about me.

  “Anyway, onto my next number… ahem… Now unrequited love is a bitch, eh? I know I’ve been there—anyone else?” A rumble of agreement travelled the room. Clearly I was not alone, then. “Aye, some of you should relate well to this next one. It’s by one of my favourite bands, Fleetwood Mac and it’s called ‘Go Your Own Way’. Oh, and don’t sing along, eh?” The audience laughed at the catchphrase I’d become known for. I forced a smile before I began.

  I played the song with a semblance of anger even though I was breaking up inside, and I glared over at Mallory once again, willing her to see me. But once again she kept her eyes firmly focused elsewhere.

  My next song was bound to get a reaction. Or so I hoped. But I realised that maybe this was all a very self-centred night. The audience hadn’t come to hear me pouring my heart out to someone who didn’t want to listen. But I thought fuck it. I’m the one with the microphone. They can fucking leave if they don’t like it. Realising that my selfish attitude could end up in Stella losing paying customers, I decided to make a token apology to the crowd.

  “Sorry, folks, it’s all a bit melancholy tonight. I’m feeling that way out. Must be my hormones. Anyway, this next one is a sad, sad song by a wonderful song writer called John Waite. It’s about a guy who’s in love with a girl. She left him and moved away. He really doesn’t know why she’s gone and he misses her desperately, but he’s trying to convince himself that he isn’t… he’s failing miserably. She’s all he can think about. She’s all he sees. He wants her to realise and come back to him… it’s called ‘Missing You’.”

  I began to play and the lyrics flowed from my lips like a prayer that I hoped she would hear and answer. I didn’t want to say goodbye. I didn’t want her to go back to Yorkshire. How would I cope? What would I do if I didn’t get to see her bright blue eyes and warm smile? The thought brought the tightening to my throat once again. I caught sight of her in my peripheral vision. She’d stopped what she was doing and was listening intently. I made eye contact with her for a moment but she turned away and walked through to the back.

  She didn’t return.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  I awoke early the next morning and decided I was going to confront Mallory about why she walked out during my gig. I knew the answer deep down. She still felt something for me and had a hard time hearing my feelings expressed like that. But I needed to hear her say it. Maybe if she could admit that to me, we had a chance. So with renewed hope I left the house and made my way down to the village.

  To my horror she was just pulling away from home. I ran in front of the car like some crazed lunatic with a fucking death wish and held my hands up. Luckily she had her wits about her and slammed on the brakes.

  I jogged around to the driver’s window and noticed her belongings piled on the backseat and Ruby’s bed in the passenger foot well.

  Fuck!

  She wound the window down and I panted, “Mallory… are you leaving?”

  “What does it have to do with you?” she snapped in that acidic tone she’d been using toward me lately.

  “The case in the back. Ruby… Are you going for good?”

  With a sneer she bitterly retorted, “Why don’t you ask your wife, Greg.” And with that she sped away, tyres screeching across the bridge and out of sight. All I could do was stand and watch her retreating vehicle with my hands in my hair.

  I flopped down onto one of the benches outside the pub and rested my head on my folded arms on
the table. I didn’t know what else to do. As if she had been listening in, Alice appeared from out of nowhere to offer comfort. Or her version of it.

  “Hey, are you okay, honey?” Her sickly sweet voice made me nauseated. Or was it the way Mallory left me with her venom in my veins? Whatever it was, I felt sick as a fucking dog.

  “Don’t call me honey,” I growled.

  She sighed. “Oh, Greg, it’s just a term of endearment.”

  I lifted my head and glared at her. “Yeah? Well nothing is going to fucking endear me to you so fuck off.”

  “Oooh, touchy. Did she kick you to the curb, then?” She sniggered and I wanted to slap her but I would never hit a woman—even one like Alice with all her fucking sly, nasty deviousness.

  “Drop it, Alice, if you know what’s good for you.”

  She huffed. “There’s no need to threaten me, Greg. I’m trying to be a friend.”

  I laughed derisively. “A friend? You? Is that what you were doing with Connell when you fucked him in our marital bed, eh, being a friend?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh for goodness’ sake, Greg. Why can’t you just let that go?”

  I stood up, anger boiling beneath my skin, and spoke through clenched teeth. “I have let it fucking go. And I’ve let you go, Alice. But you still turned up and hung around like the smell of rotting veg under a fucking cupboard. Now I suggest you go home and get a fucking lawyer because this time I’m divorcing your fucking arse right out of my life for good!” I stormed away toward home, hoping that she wouldn’t follow me for round two.

  No such fucking luck.

  I heard her feet crunching against the gravel as I increased the pace at which I was trying to escape her.

  “Greg!” she called. “Greg, please slow down. Let’s talk about this like adults, eh?”