The Man I Loved Before: A completely gripping and heart-wrenching page turner

by Anna Mansell

  Mum’s gone.

  80

  The churchyard is full. People talk in low voices, kissing one another on the cheek, sharing their sadness. Leanne stands beside me, close enough for me to lean on if I need to, Elsie Alice is strapped to her chest, fast asleep.

  The service was strange. Long. I think I want for this all to be over, yet that seems harsh, ungrateful almost. People are here because they care and they come up to tell me that, some more comfortably than others. I bite my tongue with the ones who tell me she’s out of pain now, and that she’s in a better place. If she’d had weeks, months of pain, maybe I could accept that, but she didn’t. A few hours, really, that was all. She’s not in a better place. She’s away, gone, not here.

  I don’t say that though; I just agree with each well-intentioned platitude because that’s what we’re supposed to do. And it is nice to hear the stories some share about how they knew Mum or what a great person she was. I mean, I know that for myself, obviously, but they knew her as Valerie Whitfield, which is different somehow to knowing her as Mum. Nobody else knows her as Mum and it’s the one and only time I’ve wished I had a sibling, someone to talk to about her. Someone else who knew what she was like as a parent. Leanne remembers how bad some of her cooking was, but that’s not really it.

  God, I miss her.

  I glance across to the Dragon’s car park. Mitch’s car has been there all morning. I half thought he might have turned up in the church, maybe even try and talk to me. As he has each day since she died, via text or voicemail messages, the occasional knock on the door to tell me he forgives me. That we can work through my grief together. That he doesn’t blame me for asking him to leave, he understands my pain. That he’ll wait outside my house until I am ready for him to come in. That lasted two days, his car was there most of the time, just parked up, watching as people came and went. As the funeral directors collected Mum. When the vicar came round to see me. Leanne said she’d call the police or go tell him herself but I didn’t want her to get involved. Sometimes his car would disappear for an hour or two, then it’d come back. He’d sit in the dark and watch me close the curtains and lock the door. Alone in the house.

  Eventually, his car disappeared and it didn’t come back after a few hours like before. It stayed away for a full day. The next day, he didn’t come back at all. And today – unless I missed him – he has at least kept a distance, though I assume he probably stood at the back of the church. I suspect this is less out of respect and more because he’s no idea what he’d say if he stood in front of me surrounded by all these people. His weakness is my saviour.

  Leanne takes hold of my elbow. ‘I need to pop and change her. I’ll be super-quick. Then I’ll walk with you to the Manor House, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah, thank you.’ We had to have cream tea for the afternoon wake. Mum expressly chose it in the list of things I had to organise that she helpfully left in a notepad in her bag. It included where to find the money to pay for her funeral (in a brown envelope at the back of the cupboard she kept her hair stuff in), where to find her birth certificate to register her death (filing cabinet, third drawer down), which church she wanted for her funeral (the same church she was christened in) and where we were to all go afterwards (The Manor House, Dronfield, for a cream tea and much laughter). There was a list of names of people I had to tell and their phone numbers or addresses. There was a tick box by the side of each action so I could mark off each task. Even now, hereafter, she’s still organising me.

  People come up to me, they shake my hand. They kiss my cheek. Some say they’ll see me up at the Manor, others tell me what a beautiful service it was and that they appreciated the invite. I move through the visitors, making my way to the gate to wait for Leanne, and that’s when I see him first. Ben. Standing in the very corner of the church gardens, his head bowed as he lays flowers on his own parents’ grave. When he looks up, we share a sad smile and I so wish I could run into his arms. Not because I can’t cope, but because if I hadn’t been such an idiot, he’d be the one standing beside me right now. Letting me lean when I needed to. Letting me stand when I could.

  Even when someone comes to say goodbye to me, I can barely look away from him. When I do, to be polite, I look back and see him walking towards me.

  81

  ‘Hey,’ Ben says, hands stuffed in pockets.

  ‘Hey.’

  ‘Thanks for letting me know, I appreciated it.’

  I want to ask him about the letter but now isn’t the time. Maybe there’ll never be a time. ‘I wasn’t sure if I should, I know you don’t want to hear from me. But you were on Mum’s list of people I had to tell and I couldn’t not. That’s why I messaged from her phone. I wasn’t trying to be sneaky or anything.’

  ‘Of course not. No. I’m glad you did.’

  ‘Thank you for coming, I didn’t expect you to. I realise how far it is for you.’

  He looks to the ground. ‘Oh, no, it’s fine. I… well, I live back here now.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah. Moved back at the weekend. Was all a bit sudden but it just wasn’t right down there.’ I have so many questions and none of them are my business. ‘So if you know anyone that needs a mechanic, or even just a bit of labouring, to be honest, I’m not fussy, just want to work.’

  I smile. ‘Of course.’

  Leanne’s in the background, she spots Ben and me and visibly hangs back. I think I’d rather she came and interrupted, before I get the urge to say anything I shouldn’t.

  ‘She was an amazing woman.’

  I stick my nails into my palm because of all the people I don’t want to cry in front of, it’s Ben. ‘She was.’

  ‘I owed her a lot, especially after Mum and Dad passed. I thought it was hard when Dad died, trying to be strong for Mum. Without your mum, I don’t think I’d have managed. She talked me through it, each and every day. And then when Mum died, it was so soon after, I just couldn’t see how to function. I couldn’t see myself standing, living, getting back to work and stuff. Your mum, she just quietly, calmly guided me through it all. Honestly, I don’t think I’d be standing if it wasn’t for her.’

  I nod, grateful to Mum, disappointed that I wasn’t the one to do that for him. ‘She would say you owed her nothing. She liked you.’

  ‘Have you got support? You know? I guess Leanne’s around.’

  ‘She is. Just over there, pretending she hasn’t seen that we’re talking even though she’s watching our every move in her peripheral vision.’

  He smiles then reaches for my hand and everything in me fizzes. He leans in to kiss me on the cheek and I’m reminded that it’s not excitement I want in a kiss, but love. Love and warmth and kindness. It’s a kiss that makes me feel steadied, grounded almost. What a thing to walk away from.

  ‘Be kind to yourself, Jem. This is tough, it’s big stuff. I don’t claim to know how you feel, we all deal with it differently, but I know that it will take time to find your new normal. It’s not easy.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Eat well. And…’ He looks to the floor before directly into my eyes. ‘Maybe don’t drink too much.’

  ‘I will. Eat well, I mean. Not the drinking. I’ve stopped the drinking, actually. Not altogether sure it agreed with me.’

  He studies my face, his hand still holding mine. ‘That’s good. I mean, I’m glad for you. Must be hard.’

  ‘Well, you know, it gets easier when you realise your blood shouldn’t be made up of one-part vodka six parts Shiraz.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry. For everything,’ I say in a half whisper.

  He studies our hands, then me for a second. ‘Take care, Jem. And thanks again for letting me know.’

  He lets go of me, stuffing his hands in his pockets. I want to reach out and take them back. ‘Thanks for coming. Hope you get sorted with a job or whatever soon.’

  He pauses for a second then turns back and my heart swells. ‘Your phone
was never blocked, by the way. I wouldn’t do that. Just… so you know.’

  He slowly turns to leave, pausing again as if he wants to say more but I think I’m glad that he doesn’t. Leanne sidles up beside me as I watch him leave. ‘Thank God he’s gone,’ she says.

  ‘Ben?’

  ‘No, Mitch. Look, he’s just pulled off.’

  ‘Oh yeah, so he has. Good.’ Ben walks as Mitch drives, the pair crossing, probably without realising who the other one is. I wonder what Mitch would do if he did.

  Leanne hooks her arm through mine. ‘Come on, let’s fill our faces with scones and jam.’

  ‘Devon or Cornwall?’ I ask, making my way up the path, pausing by the occasional person for them to pass on their condolences.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Jam or cream first?’

  ‘Oh, right. I dunno. What would your mum have had?’

  ‘Cornwall. Always. More cream that way.’

  ‘You see, inspiring until the very end,’ says Leanne, giving me a nudge.

  We walk in silence. I’m aware of people behind me, following us to the Manor.

  Eventually, Leanne asks what I know she’ll have been desperate to ask for the last four minutes. ‘Nice of Ben to come.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Long way.’

  ‘He’s home.’

  I feel her jolt at the news but she pretends it’s casual. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Didn’t work out, apparently.’

  ‘But… what about the baby? He’s surely not left the baby?’

  I shrug. ‘No idea. Not my place to ask.’

  ‘Nice to know he’s home?’

  I think for a moment, pushing the door open to the smell of freshly made scones and Earl Grey tea, just as Mum’s list instructed. ‘It might have been, if I’d not ruined things. It’s mostly just nice to know he doesn’t hate me. That much I couldn’t have coped with. You go sit over there, I’ve got people to welcome.’

  ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Tea. Please. Tea would be perfect.’

  82

  They say that people come over less as time goes on. With the exception of Leanne, three weeks on since the funeral, four to the day since Mum passed, I am alone in our house.

  I don’t really know how I feel about it.

  Don’t get me wrong, it’s been lovely to have food delivered, and people checking up on me. I’m not sure if they’re doing it for me or for Mum but each casserole and plated-up roast dinner has been welcomed. I could have given the skate brought over by Mum’s best friend Marjorie a miss, but there was something in its nostalgia that made me smile. And it does taste better if you don’t microwave it.

  But it feels strange to be here alone. And as the weeks pass, I do feel alone. Some people say she’s still with me, that she’s only in the next room. And I feel bad because I can’t reach her. It doesn’t seem like she’s in the next room, it seems like she’s gone. And she’s taken a little piece of me with her. I’m not sure I’ll ever get that back.

  Even now, sat in her chair, it’s like she was never here.

  Apart from her handbag on the side and her nail file resting on the books she never finished. I considered putting Hollywood Wives in her coffin, see if she could take it with her. She’ll be furious if there really isn’t a library in heaven.

  I reach for the nail file. She was the last to use it. I can see nail scuff marks on the grey emery. Her scuff marks. Her nails. It should probably be a bit gross, and yet it’s a reminder that whatever my heart feels right now, she was here. And not that long ago.

  A knock on the door gives me a start. I’m not good in the house on my own, that much I’ve realised. I used to hate it in my own place and that was even smaller than this. This one creaks with every footstep and many times without. I draw back the front door curtain, flicking the porch light on as I open the door. And there he is again. Mitch. A bouquet of flowers in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

  ‘Please don’t slam the door in my face,’ he says, stepping forward so that I can’t without shoving the flowers in his face and potentially hurting him.

  ‘I don’t want to see you, Mitch.’ I push the door gently, preserving some of the heat in the house, making sure I can close it fully if I need to. I look up and down the road, wondering why, on a road normally busy with people going to and fro, there is not a single car around.

  ‘I know you think you don’t want to see me, but we had something really special, Jem. And I’ve given you time. I’ve given you space, you owe it to me to talk.’

  Owe it to him?

  ‘You’re grieving. You’re not thinking straight and I’m not angry about that. I might have done the same thing had we been together when Mum died. A love like ours, it’s so intense, so deep, it’s frightening. Especially when you’re dealing with the death of a loved one. You probably had conflicting thoughts, those last few days. Not helped by how quick things happened between us, but when it’s true, there’s no sense in hanging around.’

  He’s pleading with me. His eyes wide and focused. He leans against the door, his breath heavy with alcohol. I notice his car, up where he’d been parking after I first asked him to leave.

  ‘I love you, Jem. Please, I just want to talk. That’s all. See if we can’t mend things. You need help. I can help you.’

  ‘I need help?’

  ‘Of course you do. You’re broken, and you’re bound to be. I mean you were before your mum passed, but of course that’s worse now. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.’

  ‘I’m not ashamed.’

  ‘Good. That’s good. You see, already you’re making way to a brighter future. Let that be with me. Let us pick up where we were.’ I go to cut him off, but he interjects. ‘All that money we spent on your mum’s room turning it into a space for us. It’s such a waste.’

  He has no idea I cleared it out. That I put it back to Mum’s room on the day she died. That I moved straight back into my box room because at least that felt safe. And free of him. The memory of how he manipulated and lied. The memory of how good he made me feel and how much I wish he hadn’t. The knowledge that he moved in because he had nowhere to go… he had nowhere to go.

  ‘Why are you really here?’

  He holds the flowers and wine up. ‘To bring you these. To get us back together.’

  ‘Not because you’ve nowhere else to go?’

  ‘No. Of course not. Jem, I love you.’

  I look down at his clothes, crumpled, lived-in. His face is drawn, tired. He’s no idea that I’ve since learned that it was Lisa’s house. That I tracked her down on Facebook and she told me she had kicked him out. That his mum lived in a local authority place and left him nothing at all in her will. Not because she was cutting him off – I don’t imagine she knew what he was like – but she had nothing. That was the only truthful thing he ever told me: that she had nothing more than a basic funeral. Cardboard coffin, no flowers. No financial legacy at all. He was leaching off Lisa until she got wise to it, then he leached off me and Mum. ‘You’re living in your car, aren’t you? You’ve come here because you think you can persuade me to let you move back in because you’ve nowhere else to go.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jem. I’m here because I love you. I’m here because I believe you made a mistake and I want to help you see that.’

  ‘I think you should leave.’

  ‘Jem. You’re being ridiculous. You don’t know what you’re doing.’

  ‘Mitch, I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m doing what I should have done before, what I was trying to do before you came on the scene. I am sorting myself out. I am taking control of me, of my life.’

  ‘You can’t do it without me. You need me. You just don’t want to admit it.’

  I step back from the door, I’ve never felt so certain about anything in my life. ‘Bye, Mitch. If you come back, I will call the police.’

  And I slam the door, walk through to the lounge and drop into Mum’s cha
ir. And I cry. I cry because I can’t believe how strong I just was. I cry because I can’t believe how weak I’d been before. I cry because I am exhausted and wrung out and I cry because, bloody hell, I miss her. With every single bit of my being, I miss her.

  And I cry because I know without question, that the best way to honour the life she gave me, is to live it to the full, to own my mistakes but not be defined by them, to make peace with myself and others if it’s possible. Not to make me feel better this time, but for them, if they want it, so they know I realise what I did.

  And to forgive myself, because maybe, looking back, it wasn’t always all my fault.

  83

  ‘Morning.’ Leanne carries Elsie Alice in her car seat, popping her by the sofa in the lounge. She’s sleeping soundly. ‘She’s been awake all bloody night. God knows why. So bloody needy.’

  ‘Ahhh, poor thing.’

  ‘You say that when you’ve been up all night trying to get her to cry downstairs so she doesn’t wake her brother up on a school night. Andy had to go to London first thing, so I’m flying solo again and I tell you what, I had forgotten how bad this phase is.’