I glanced at the customers enjoying refreshments outside the cafe, and as I refocused on the path ahead I jumped as a hand reached out and touched my arm. Suddenly brought back to the present, for a moment my heart soared as I turned, expecting, hoping, to come face to face with Ed. Instead I turned to find Jon, one of the Le Mans crew.
“Hello,” he said as he rose from his seat. “You looked like you were a million miles away.”
“Sorry, I was. I was deep in thought. How are you?” I asked as I pushed myself up onto tiptoes. Even so, he still had to lean down so we could exchange the socially accepted greeting of a delicate kiss to both (note, not one) cheeks.
“I’m good. Finally caught up on sleep after the trip. How about you?”
“Much the same as you. I didn’t know you were from around here,” I replied, uncertain as to why this never came up whilst we were away.
“I’m not, actually I live about ten miles away but I bring my bike here to get it repaired and was just having a coffee while I wait. Would you like to join me?”
“That would be lovely,” I confessed, relieved to have some company and to engage in conversation to take my mind off Ed and away from the dark thoughts.
Jon went into the cafe and reappeared a few minutes later with a large, strong, white coffee in a bowl-sized, solid white cup that snuggled into my grateful hands. I thanked him and we settled back in our seats. We reminisced about our exploits in France, whilst sipping the hot coffee and watching the world go by.
“And how is Ed? Is he down this weekend?” Jon asked innocently.
“Umm no,” I said rather hesitantly, my hand again going to my bag to check if he had responded before stopping myself. It would have been rude to look at my phone, but I was looking to delay having to respond to the question. This was one of Ed’s friends, how would I respond to such a question?
I smiled at Jon. “Actually I haven’t heard from him much. I’m not sure if he’s working or still catching up on sleep…” My voice trailed off as I was not sure how to complete the sentence. It didn’t look good and Jon was starting to shift awkwardly in his seat as the silence between us grew.
“Have you spoken to him recently?” I asked, immediately regretting it despite my attempt at a light-hearted question, as it put Jon in the awkward position. I smiled, hoping that might get us back to where we were a few moments before. Our drinks were too hot to drink quickly and we would be stuck with each other for some uncomfortable minutes if we were not careful.
Jon looked down at his coffee, like something amazing was happening in the froth that he couldn’t drag his eyes away from. “Actually yes,” he said quietly without looking at me. “I spoke to him yesterday. He said, well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you, but he said he wasn’t working this weekend which is why I assumed he’d be here, with you. You were so…” His eyes now met mine, but his voice trailed off, clearly nervous about saying any more.
“Oh,” was all I could muster as my heart sank to the pit of my stomach. I felt the prick of tears in the corners of my eyes. They bubbled over and ran down my cheeks, starting as drops, escalating to a flow. I lifted my hastily drawn tissue to catch them as they fell from my cheeks. These were heartbreak tears. I couldn’t look at Jon. My mind was woefully running down the facts. Ed isn’t working, he hasn’t come down, he hasn’t called, he hasn’t replied to my text. He is no longer my Ed, I concluded.
I stared at my coffee, hoping it would magically cool sufficiently for me to drink and escape this impossible situation. All those years of making mountains out of molehills had put me in good stead for this moment. I pulled myself harshly and suddenly to my senses.
“Sorry,” I said, with a slight attempt at a laugh whilst pulling myself up straight, and a quick, sharp shake of my head to make myself feel stronger. “No, I didn’t know that, but that’s okay, it’s been pretty full-on of late and he probably needs a little space. I’m sure I’ll hear from him soon.” I smiled a hollow smile which convinced no one.
“I’m sure you’re right,” he said, tapping the back of my hand like an awkward adult trying to reassure a child they do not know well.
“Thank you,” I said with sincerity. At least Jon had been honest with me.
We sat in silence for a while, taking as many hot sips of coffee as our mouths could endure. Eventually small talk resumed until one of the engineers from the bike shop came to tell a relieved Jon that his bike was ready.
“Thank you for the coffee, Jon, it was great to see you again.” We exchanged kisses again.
“It was great to see you too, maybe we’ll bump into each other again soon,” he offered and then, after he had walked away a couple of steps and while I was deciding where to go next, I saw Jon stop, pause, then turn slowly.
“I’m sure he’ll be in touch soon. We could all see how much in love the two of you were in France. I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. He’s a good bloke, you know,” he said in way of condolence.
“Thank you,” I mouthed, unable to control the tears flowing down my face again. “I hope you’re right,” I mustered.
Clearly he wanted to escape, this was beyond socially awkward. He leant his bike up against the wall and stepped back towards me, intent on giving me a reassuring hug. But I put my hand out to stop him. “Thank you, but please don’t. If you hug me right now it’ll open a floodgate that I won’t be able to shut, but thank you, I’ll be okay.”
I dabbed my face with the tissue as he walked away, not looking back this time. Who knows what the other patrons of the cafe must have thought. It didn’t matter and I didn’t care. I turned and walked away in the opposite direction. Somehow it felt like I was walking away from more than just one of Ed’s friends.
I considered a visit to some of my favourite shops, but my heart wasn’t in it. I didn’t need anything. I didn’t want anything. One of my usual emotional crutches – shopping – was not going to fill the empty void inside. My head swam with thoughts. I wanted Ed to text, or to call. I wanted to call him, but I knew I could not. Whatever was going on, he needed to come to me. The ball was firmly in his court.
I trudged home with a heavy heart. As I did my bag vibrated under my hand. I stopped suddenly, causing the middle-class couple behind me to puff at me as they sidestepped me. Normally I would have apologised for my inconsiderate behaviour, but all my attention, my very being, was focused on retrieving the phone, but my fumbling, shaking hands were more of a hindrance than a help. I stopped, eyes closed, deep breath in, deep breath out. Try again. This time I was successful.
I put my thumb on the button and the screen sprung to life.
It was a text.
From Ed.
I felt happy, then nervous, I wanted to read it, but I didn’t. I was confused. I wanted good news, reassurance. I was fearful it would be bad news. Opening the text was not going to change the content, but it may delay me finding out the truth. It could be okay though, couldn’t it?
I stood on the pavement, fixed to the spot, halfway between town and home.
Finally I made up my mind. If there were going to be more tears then best to do that in the comfort, security and solitude of my own home, away from prying eyes. No one wants to watch a woman crying in the street.
I rushed home, phone still clutched in my hand. I had the keys out ready whilst still five houses away. What had just a few days before been exhilaration at seeing a text from Ed had turned seamlessly into trepidation.
I slammed the door shut behind me, throwing myself, my bag and my phone onto the sofa. I pressed my thumb against the unlock button again. As I held my breath I read the simple, short, devastating text. ‘Sorry. Something’s come up. I need time to think. Will be in touch. Ed.’
No ‘Hello you’. No warmth. No explanation. No timeline. No kisses.
It was like time stopped. I could hear myself breathe.
But nothing moved. I was inside my own head. Then the swirling started. Tears, heavy, sobbing breaths. I coughed. Thoughts tumbling into and over each other in ferocious succession.
Is it over?
What has come up?
Who has come up?
In touch, but when?
How long will purgatory last?
Should I acknowledge the message to let him know I have received it? To let him know I am there when he is ready to talk?
At least I knew the answer to the last one. No. He could see from the text status it had been delivered and read. It was clear he wanted time. I wouldn’t interfere with that. No, it was just a matter of time. A waiting game.
The thoughts whirled on.
Do I even know him?
How have we gone from loved-up and moving in together to needing time to think, in the space of a week? And think about what? What has happened in the short time we have been apart?
I could feel my face getting hot, the room spinning. I held onto the sofa, trying to focus my eyes on one point. My breathing was rapid, tears and sweat mingling together. Then nothing. Darkness.
*
I came around slumped on my side on the sofa, my phone lying forlorn on the floor where it must have dropped from my unconscious hand.
I pushed myself back upright and checked my phone. It took me a while to be able to focus but I was reassured to see that I had only been out for a couple of minutes at most. I realised that I must have fainted. It had all been too much to take and my emotions had overtaken me. I did a blood test to check there was nothing amiss with my diabetes. Thankfully the monitor showed everything was normal, in range. At least something is, I thought to myself.
I put the TV on for noise and distraction whilst I tried to make sense of it all.
I stared at the screen. I didn’t hear or see anything that was being broadcast. I was in a stupor.
Okay, I eventually decided, he’s asked for space and that is what I’m going to give him. I gave myself a mental slap round the face. I’ve been here before. Better he quits now, rather than after he moves in, or when we have become even more entangled and in love. Good, I concluded.
I hadn’t been looking for love, love had found me. I had decided I was not going to be fooled again and here I was, back at the sink or swim moment as I had been so many times before. I would do what I always did, swim. Always a fighter, a survivor, I would get back on an even keel and carry on.
I had been a bad friend of late, doing what so many women do and seeing less and less of my friends as the relationship took hold. Now I reached out to my friends. They had every right to tell me to go to hell. But they didn’t. They rallied round like we all had for each other at one time or another. Often at times like this. We arranged to meet in the pub in a couple of hours.
My relationship with Ed might be dead, but I was not. I was not going to put my life on hold. I didn’t need thinking time. I needed friend time. I needed to laugh. I needed to live. Above all, I needed wine.
I drank too much that evening, drowning my sorrows, some might say. I had shared my tale early in the evening to get it out of the way. I had not shared the full story. Somehow I was clinging, somewhere at the back of my brain, to the faint chance that it might not be over. I didn’t want to taint my friends’ opinion of him in case things made a turn for the better. We discussed possible reasons why this might have happened. There were lots of plausible reasons. None of them palatable. We loved him, we hated him, we didn’t understand him, or any men for that matter.
We drank.
Then we laughed.
We danced where there was no dance floor in the middle of the busy bar.
My friends kindly escorted me home some hours later. I was understandably unsteady on my feet, the booze having worked its magic, particularly as I had forgotten to eat before we met.
I tried several times to get the key in the door, laughing each time as I focused with all my might, but the key skidded off across the brass plate as it missed its target. Eventually Kate patiently took the key from my hand and successfully opened the door.
They left me on my sofa with a strong coffee and a promise from me to be in touch the next day to let them know I was ok.
I woke the next morning curled up on the sofa where they had left me. I was cold – physically and mentally.
I tried to sit up, pushing myself up with my left arm. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. I tried again, but I couldn’t right myself. I tried to stand but fell back onto the sofa. I couldn’t move. My left arm and left leg had no strength. They had no feeling. My left-hand side was numb.
I was terrified.
I didn’t know what was happening. I wondered if I had had a stroke. I had never been troubled by hangovers, but I knew the symptoms and this certainly was not any of those. Certainly not something I had ever heard of.
I reached for my phone. My first reaction was to call Ed and ask for help. He had a key but was too far away and far more importantly he didn’t want to hear from me.
I didn’t want to worry my friends and anyway what could they do.
I did the only thing left that I could, I called an ambulance, tears again traversing my face, panicked. The operator tried to calm me as I waited for the tell-tale sounds of an ambulance getting louder and louder until it was ear-splittingly close.
I eased myself onto the floor and dragged myself across the carpet to the door. Using all the power and strength I had on my right side to reach up and open the door, I then sunk back down to the floor, out of breath, exhausted, terrified.
The crew arrived with a stretcher and I explained my symptoms, adding my diabetes and allergies for good measure. They didn’t think it was my long-term illness but did a blood test just to check. It was normal.
They picked up my bag with my medication and took me the twenty miles to our nearest hospital. Luckily at that time of the morning there was not too much of a wait in A&E, even so, by the time a doctor got to me I was already starting to regain strength in my defunct side. Blood was taken, my neck was scanned and my eyes examined, not that any of that revealed anything. The doctor brought in a colleague for a second opinion and the questioning and prodding resumed.
Two hours later I walked out of the hospital barefoot, as there had been no need to put shoes on when I was stretchered out of the house.
In the end a neurologist had been called and had, after further tests, concluded that it was a rare form of migraine brought on by extreme stress, which resulted in half-body paralysis rather than the usual debilitating headache.
“My weird body strikes again,” I had told the doctor to his bemusement, as I explained I couldn’t whistle, click my fingers, or wink, my eyes don’t change quickly in response to changes in light and I have no reflexes in my knees or ankles.
I sent a text to my friends to reassure them I was okay, not mentioning what had happened for fear of worrying them.
I took a taxi home and put myself to bed. This was not a day for doing anything.
After a restful sleep I lay in bed for some time, not awake, not asleep. Not wanting to face what was left of Sunday, but unable to sleep further.
Nervously I got up. I feared a return of the paralysis, but I stood up unimpaired and went to have an overdue, refreshing shower to wake me from this day.
It was mid-afternoon and I had no plan to go out so I put on clean PJs and ignored my makeup box, deciding there was no point making an effort for my empty front room.
I felt so alone. I stared at my phone, willing it to ring, to hear Ed’s smooth, reassuring voice. I wanted to tell him what had happened and for him to dash to my side (working or not). I wanted to feel loved, and safe, and comforted as I had just one week previously.
As I sank back into the black abyss I turned on the TV and went to the fridge to open some win
e. Pouring a large glass I glanced at the food in the fridge, realising I hadn’t eaten all day, but I was not interested in food or in eating at all. I closed the door and trudged back to the sofa – my familiar, consistent, reliable sofa.
I sipped my refreshing, medicinal wine and found myself staring at the Orkney chair next to the TV rather than the programme airing at the time.
A traditional chair from the islands that lie between the north of Scotland and Shetland, it was made to sit near the fire and protect against the howling winds of winter. The chairs come in different shapes and sizes but generally the base and arms are made of wood, with woven straw sides and back that rise around and above the occupant.
The chair had belonged to my mum, that is until cancer had cruelly stolen her from us some years before. I missed my mum, I missed sharing all the good as well as the bad things that happened. She always knew what to say and always provided me with sound advice. I was slipping further and further into the abyss and I was losing my way back.
I put the glass down. It was not helping. I was not going to find the answer in there.
I flicked through the channels until I found a familiar film. I curled up on the sofa, hugging a large cushion for comfort, and I let the tears flow across my face and into the soft furnishings.
As I reminisce, the pain I felt that weekend is still so clear and vivid in my heart and my head. And, truth be known, I have shed more tears in remembrance.
As the credits rolled at the end of the film I dragged myself off the sofa. I trudged upstairs. I curled up under my duvet, glad of the cooler night despite it being late June. Tonight I needed to feel comforted and somehow it’s hard to feel that in excessive heat.
The alarm woke me as it always does on a work day at 6.30am. I tried to roll over to switch it off, only to find my left side paralysed again. During the night the paralysis, induced by the hemiplegic migraine, had stealthily snuck back into my body as I slept. That morning there was no panic as there had been the day before, as I now knew the cause and that it wouldn’t last. True to form, within an hour the numbness started to ebb away.
Loves Lost and Found Page 16