by Cathy Lake
When he opened his eyes, she had turned her chair and was heading for the front doors of the village hall. They opened automatically and she gave him a brief glance, her eyes filled with sadness and pain, then disappeared into the late November evening.
Bewildered and ashamed at his own emotional outburst, Sam leant against the wall, resting his head against the cool, painted surface. As the doors closed, his broken reflection stared back at him from the glass and he knew that something had to change. He couldn’t keep going over the same ground, time after time.
Alyssa was his baby sister and he loved her, but she had to make her own choices in life, as did he.
Peering out into the hallway, Clare spotted Sam leaning against the wall, his shoulders slumped, knees slightly bent, suggesting it was taking all of his strength to stay upright.
‘Sam?’ She approached him cautiously, as if he was a wounded animal that might start and run away. ‘Are you all right?’
Reaching his side, she placed a hand on his arm, and he turned to her. He looked hollow-cheeked, as if the life had been sucked out of him, and his eyes were haunted.
‘I . . . just keep getting it so wrong, Clare. How do I keep getting it wrong?’
‘Getting what wrong, Sam?’ she asked.
‘Alyssa . . . I try to be what she needs me to be but my stupid, stubborn need to protect her surfaces and causes problems. I have to change, Clare, I have to do something. How do I change?’
He pressed his knuckles into his eyes and she faltered. What did he need right now? What could she do to help him?
Voices from the kitchen at the rear of the village hall filtered through and she realised that there were still other people around, including Kyle. She needed to get Sam out of there.
‘Let me grab my bag and we can go and get a drink,’ she said, and he nodded. ‘I’ll be quick.’
Hurrying back through the doors to Kyle, she grabbed her bag and paperwork.
‘Kyle, something’s come up. Would you be OK to finish up here, then take this paperwork back to Nanna’s?’
He looked at her, one eyebrow raised. ‘This is about the vet, right?’
‘I need to take him for a drink. He argued with his sister and he’s in a bit of a state. He needs a friend.’
Kyle rolled his eyes. ‘You and Nanna both? Bloody hell! You’re putting me to shame the way you two are carrying on.’
‘I’m not carrying on, Kyle. I’m being a friend.’
‘You keep telling yourself that, Mum, but I saw the way you two were looking at each other this evening. I’ve witnessed the sparkling attraction between you.’
‘There’s no attraction, Kyle.’ Clare glanced behind her, fearing that she might get back out there and find Sam gone. And yet she didn’t want to rush off and leave her son thinking she was carrying on. It made her feel as though she was doing something wrong.
‘What is it? You think that just because you’re a mum, a daughter and an ex-wife that you can’t have your own wants and needs?’
She frowned. ‘My own wants and needs don’t matter, Kyle.’
‘They bloody well do, Mum! You’re only forty-five and you’ve spent the majority of your adult life tied to a man who didn’t even notice you. You’re free now, so have some fun, enjoy yourself a bit.’
‘It’s not like that.’ A flush crept over her skin. She could barely believe this was her son speaking to her in this way.
‘Mum,’ he placed his hands on her shoulders, ‘I’m an adult now. No one ever wants to think of their parents as sexual beings, but you are. You’re warm, kind and beautiful.’ He gave her a quick hug. ‘Now go get your vet.’
She was about to deny it some more but then she realised she didn’t have the energy and Sam was out there, needing a friend. Kyle could wait; she didn’t know if Sam could.
‘I’ll see you at Nanna’s later, OK?’
He nodded.
‘And don’t forget to let Goliath out.’
‘I won’t.’ He kissed her cheek, then released her. ‘Be careful.’
‘Of course.’
In the hallway, Sam was still leaning against the wall, his eyes glazed over, as if he’d retreated into his mind.
‘Sam? Shall we go?’
He met her eyes. ‘OK.’
She took one of his large hands, laced her fingers through his and led him towards the doors, which swished open automatically, then they stepped outside into the icy air. After the brightness of the hall, the darkness of the village evening seemed impenetrable, the streetlights golden orbs set high above the ground, the spaces between their circles of light black and unfathomable.
They walked slowly at first; Clare didn’t want to rush him while he seemed so dazed. The Red wasn’t far from the village hall, but she wasn’t sure if he would want to go there. On a Thursday evening it might be busy and she didn’t know how he’d manage if he had to make polite conversation.
‘Do you want to go to the pub?’ She peered up at him.
‘I’d prefer to go home, if that’s OK with you? I just can’t face people at the moment.’
‘No problem.’ Did he mean her as well? Was she people, or did he want her company? If she just managed to get him home, she could find out if he wanted her there or not, and then at least he’d be safe, whatever he decided.
They walked hand in hand, Clare conscious of their skin touching, his long fingers wrapped around hers. How big yet vulnerable he seemed . . . She felt that there was a connection between them that went deeper than friendship; they had both been through difficult times, both been strong and resilient, and they had that in common. But now there was a difference – they could be there to help and support each other. They went past the café and the veterinary surgery on one side, and the village green on the other. The wind rustled the trees and cast eerie shadows across the pavement and the road, carrying the aromas of woodsmoke, chips and garlic, picking scents up as it travelled through the village. Clare pulled her coat up around her neck, the chill creeping under the collar and sending shivers down her spine.
Sam’s cottage came into sight and his grip on her hand relaxed a bit. He needed to go home, to hide away from the world for a bit to gather his strength. Clare knew that feeling, had experienced it after Jason had broken the news that he no longer wanted to be married to her. At that moment, in that raw period, it had left her bewildered, desperate to hide under the duvet and rest, regain her strength before facing the world again.
Outside his cottage Sam fumbled with the key, so Clare took it from him, opened the door, then stood back as Scout rushed at them. Sam murmured hello to the dog, stroking her head and her ears, then turned to Clare. She put her hands in her pockets, expecting him to say goodbye.
‘Would you come in?’
‘Oh . . . uh, now?’
‘It’s OK. I understand that you probably want to go home.’
‘No! It’s fine. I told Kyle we were going for a drink anyway, so he won’t be expecting me home for a while.’
‘You can have a drink here.’ He gave her a small smile. ‘I have spirits, wine, beers in the fridge.’
‘That would be lovely.’
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, then followed Sam through to the kitchen. He let Scout out into the garden, then went to the fridge.
‘Yep, beer or lager or white wine. Then there’s red in the wine rack . . .’
‘Red would be great, thanks.’
He nodded and selected a bottle from the wine rack.
‘Would it be OK if I use your bathroom?’ she asked as she removed her coat.
‘Top of the stairs, first door on the left.’
‘Thanks.’
When she’d washed her hands, she stood for a moment in front of the mirror above the sink. The bathroom was very clean and smelt of bleach and Sam’s cologne. It was deliciously masculine and made her feel a bit light-headed, as if his scent knocked her slightly off-kilter. In the mirror, her reflection stared
back at her, skin pale and freckly, eyes seeming to be a darker green than usual, but that was probably due to the lighting, hair slightly messy from where the breeze had ruffled it. She ran her hands through it, smoothing it down, then tucked it behind her ears. It was like looking at herself through someone else’s eyes; she was herself, but she was changing, going through a metamorphosis of sorts as she left the wife she’d been behind and morphed into the woman she was going to be. The woman, perhaps, she was always meant to be, but had somehow lost along the way.
Feelings rushed through her: she was nervous but excited, pensive yet happy as she stood on the line between one life and another. She could do anything, be anything, go anywhere; life was hers for the taking.
At last.
Downstairs, she paused by the lounge doorway and popped her head into the room.
‘There you are,’ Sam said as he smiled at her from the sofa. ‘I’ve poured the wine, stoked the fire and Scout has been out and done what she needed to do.’
Clare crossed the room and the dog wagged her tail from where she was lying in front of the log burner, the regular thump as it hit the rug reminding Clare of a heartbeat. Of her heartbeat, as it sped up in her chest when she took a seat on the sofa next to Sam. It seemed wrong to sit on the other sofa, too far away, as if placing a physical distance between them would leave him feeling lost. She wanted him to feel safe, cared about, and that he could talk if he needed to or just sit quietly and sip wine while gazing into the fire.
On the sofa, she turned her body so she was facing him, and he handed her a glass of wine.
‘Thank you.’ Clare savoured the aromas of blackcurrant and vanilla, then the spicy, chocolate undertones as she rested the wine on her tongue. ‘The wine is delicious.’
‘Can’t beat a good red.’ Sam nodded, then sipped his wine. ‘Thank you, Clare.’
‘What for?’
‘Getting me home.’ He laughed. ‘All six foot one of me. I’m so sorry.’
‘Why are you sorry, Sam?’
He gazed into his glass, swirling the wine around. ‘For losing it back there. I just . . .’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘I felt like I’d been catapulted back through the years to when Alyssa had her accident. It was like some delayed shock or something.’
‘A kind of PTSD?’
‘I guess it could be. I didn’t see the accident, though, just Alyssa at the hospital and photographs of the scene in the newspapers.’ He rubbed his forehead as if to try to erase the images.
‘It must have been awful.’
‘It was dreadful. To think what could have happened to her. I would have died if I’d lost her.’ He grimaced. ‘When Mum . . . when she was dying, Mum told me to take care of Alyssa. It was as if she thought it would be too great a task for Dad, as if she knew he wouldn’t last long enough without her there. He did, though, he lived for eighteen years after her death, but it was like he wasn’t there for most of it and I had to take it all on, you know. I helped him out as much as I could with money, food, being there as often as I could. It drove me to get my qualifications, I guess. I knew I’d need to help him and Alyssa as much as I could. I mean, that’s what families do, right?’
‘Some.’ Clare sipped her wine. ‘Not all, though. Some families aren’t close at all.’
‘Alyssa is furious with me, Clare. I’m afraid that I’ve pushed her too far this time.’
‘I’m sure she’ll come around.’ Clare reached out a hand and he took it, wrapping his long fingers around hers. Touching was reassuring, grounding, and very nice, she thought as she gazed at their entwined hands. ‘She’s just angry at the moment.’
‘Did you hear the argument?’
‘Not much of it. Just raised voices mainly, and I caught a few things, but none of it made sense.’ She smiled, holding his gaze, hoping she was offering him some relief from the embarrassment of having such a personal argument in public. ‘No one else would have heard anything.’
His eyes widened. ‘There were still other people around?’
‘In the kitchen. They wouldn’t have heard you.’
He sank back onto the cushions. ‘Thank goodness for that. I feel like such an idiot. What if I’ve lost her for good?’
The pain in his eyes made Clare’s heart ache and she shuffled closer to him on the sofa, so their arms were touching, their fingers remaining entwined.
‘She’ll come back to you. Just give her some time to cool down.’
‘I haven’t told you the full story, Clare.’ He worried his bottom lip, biting it so hard she feared he’d break the skin.
‘It’s OK. You don’t have to.’
She released his hand, leant forwards and put her glass on the table. When she sat back again, she smoothed the backs of her fingers gently down his face, hoping to ease his anxiety, to comfort him in the way he clearly needed.
‘I need to tell someone, Clare . . .’ He looked at her, then across to the log burner, where flames flickered, casting shadows around the room. Clare pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek, breathing him in, wishing she could take away his sorrow.
‘Tell me then, Sam. I’m listening.’
‘I’m worried you’ll hate me when you know the truth.’
‘That won’t happen.’ She kissed him again. ‘I’m here and I’m not going to judge you. I promise.’
He nodded, drained his wine glass, then placed it on the table.
‘OK, here goes . . .’
Sam could barely believe that he was sitting on his sofa with Clare, that she was gently stroking his face, showing him understanding and compassion. He had never thought he’d come close to telling anyone what had happened that day with Alyssa, that he would be able to share details of his childhood, his life before he moved to Little Bramble. But here he was, about to tell her the things he had kept under lock and key for years. It was terrifying, yet exhilarating.
‘Growing up in a small flat wasn’t easy. Don’t get me wrong, I always knew I was loved and that Mum and Dad loved each other too. Then Alyssa came along when I was twelve and she filled our lives with so much joy but we lost Mum because of the difficult labour and complications. Dad adored Alyssa, he really did, but he also . . . well, in moments of despair, when he’d had a lot to drink, admitted that he resented her.’
‘Oh Sam!’ Clare took his hand and squeezed it, giving him the strength to go on.
‘She was the reason we’d lost Mum. Obviously, it wasn’t her fault, but if Mum hadn’t got pregnant with her, then lost so much blood and developed an infection, she would have still been around. It’s why Dad sank into such a deep depression. He couldn’t unite the two parts of his life, his love for Alyssa and the resentment he felt towards her. It tore him apart.’ Shame crawled through Sam now and he sucked in a deep breath, preparing to tell Clare the rest. ‘And . . . I also felt it too.’ He met her eyes, then looked quickly away, unable to witness the horror that he was certain would be there. ‘I came to resent her because she’d taken my mum away from me. I’m so ashamed of that, Clare, and I hope I never let it show, but I was only a boy and some days I just wanted my mum.’
‘Of course you did. Those feelings were perfectly natural and it was understandable that your dad would feel that way too.’
‘I don’t know. I can’t forgive myself for feeling that way about Alyssa. I mean, I adore her. She’s my baby sister and she never deserved resentment. She deserved love and understanding and support.’
‘You’ve given her that, all her life. Don’t be so unkind to yourself, Sam. You’re a good man.’
He gave a wry laugh. ‘Am I, though? A good man would never have felt that way towards an innocent baby.’
‘You were a child, Sam. Would you blame a child from the village for feeling that way if they lost their mum in childbirth? You and your dad were grieving, but that didn’t take away from your love of Alyssa.’
He met her eyes then and relief flooded through him at the understanding in her gaz
e.
‘I guess not. I’d feel sorry for them, think they needed support, help . . .’
‘Counselling?’
‘Yes. Of course.’ He nodded.
‘Then you mustn’t blame yourself. You were a child; you lost your mum and your dad was struggling. You needed love and nurturing too.’
She slid her arm around his shoulders and he sighed, feeling suddenly liberated at getting the confession out in the open. Clare didn’t hate him. But . . . there was more.
‘Then, when Alyssa was twenty-four, that day she was hurt in the accident? That was my fault.’
‘How could the accident have been your fault? You weren’t even there.’
‘We argued. See, as you know, Dad lived with sickle cell all his life. He was mostly OK, but there was a chance that Alyssa and I would have inherited the gene.’
‘But you’re not ill? Or Alyssa?’
He shook his head. ‘No, but we were tested, and we do carry the gene. It means that we could have children with the condition.’
‘Sam, I’m sorry. That must be really hard to live with.’
‘It was one of the reasons why I decided not to have children. I wouldn’t want to pass it on.’
‘But your dad wasn’t ill all his life?’
‘No. Some people live with it and manage it throughout their lives but I couldn’t allow myself to pass it to another generation. That can only happen if both parents are carriers or if one of the parents has sickle cell themselves, but it’s still a risk I don’t want to take.’
‘And Alyssa?’
‘She was pregnant. She came to tell me on the day of the accident and we argued because I said she was being irresponsible. More than anything, though, I was worried about her. She’s such a warm and loving person and I knew that if she had a child with the condition, she’d feel guilty and would suffer seeing her child suffer. It would hurt her, and I couldn’t bear to see her hurting.’
‘Goodness, Sam, you’ve carried so much all these years.’
‘She left after we argued and jumped on her bike and sped off . . . She was upset, crying . . . I should have stopped her, but I didn’t and she . . . then she was hurt. The accident was life-changing for her.’