Chapter 9
Kristen
Kristen stood in her kitchen, staring at the potato salad.
She hated funerals. The concentration of grief was oppressive and the finality of it disturbed her. She was an optimist. She liked to tell herself that everything would be all right in the end, but a funeral was proof that things weren’t always all right in the end and that happy endings were randomly allocated and far from assured.
Today was Michael’s funeral. He was dead, and no amount of positive thinking or manifesting was going to bring him back.
She kept trying to remember him in happier times. On their wedding day, mortified because he’d left the ring in the pocket of his other suit. Hannah’s first birthday party. A Christmas they’d spent together where they’d been snowed in. But nothing deleted the image of Michael, broken, being dragged from a mangled wreck of a car. It was stuck in her head, a macabre video playing on a loop, and she hadn’t even been there.
Theo had been there, and Theo seemed as broken as Michael. He’d held it together on the night of the party but had then seemed to unravel. He hadn’t been to work since it happened, and Kristen had been too worried about him to leave his side. It had been over a week now and during the day all he did was wander aimlessly round the house and garden. Occasionally she’d woken in the night and found him staring at the ceiling.
She’d reached for his hand, trying to hold him back from the edge of the dark pit that was threatening to swallow him up.
She’d spent years wishing they could spend more time together and just when she’d given up and tried to find a cure for her loneliness elsewhere, she now had her husband with her day and night.
Except he wasn’t really “with” her. He was somewhere else. He was lost.
Remembering how she’d felt when her father had died, Kristen had given him the support she would have liked. She’d held him when the sadness overwhelmed him, she’d made him hot drinks and hot meals and encouraged him to go for walks and stay healthy. She’d listened when he wanted to talk but hadn’t pushed him when he preferred to stay silent.
Everything she did signaled the same thing. I’m here for you.
She tried to ignore the tiny part of her brain that kept reminding her that he hadn’t been there for her when her father had died (there had been other occasions in their marriage when he hadn’t been there for her, either, but the death of her father had been the hardest to handle), that he hadn’t once asked her what she’d needed.
That was in the past, and it would stay in the past.
But it had been a difficult week, made more difficult by the fact that her mother seemed to have gone into hiding. Why she couldn’t say where she was, Kristen had no idea. Why the secrecy?
She’d had several messages from her, reassuring Kristen that she was fine, and simply taking some time to deal with a few things. She’d told Kristen not to worry. That she needed space.
Given that the Lapthorne mansion offered more than enough space for ten people to live comfortably, Kristen had deduced that what her mother was really saying was that she needed space from Kristen. Her mother wouldn’t tell her where she was staying. Her mother didn’t want Kristen to find her. Whatever crisis had driven her to leave her own party, she didn’t want to share it with her daughter.
And that stung.
What did it say about you as a person that your own mother went into hiding to avoid you? When the person who was supposed to love you unconditionally was so desperate for space from you that they wouldn’t even tell you where they were?
The whole thing was hurtful and mystifying, and the hurt increased with each passing day.
Cecilia had assured Kristen that she was fine, but not once had she asked how Kristen was. She hadn’t apologized for walking out of her own party, leaving Kristen to handle a hundred guests. She hadn’t asked how it went, or how Kristen had explained her absence. She didn’t know that Todd had broken up with Amelie. She didn’t know that Theo had come to the party. She didn’t know Michael had been killed. She didn’t know that today was his funeral.
A normal mother, if not actually present, might at least have sent a message.
Thinking of you today with love.
But her mother wouldn’t be thinking about her, because she didn’t know anything that was happening in Kristen’s life. She didn’t seem to care.
Her eyes stung and her mood sank so low that she felt a moment of alarm.
Kristen was no longer worried about her mother; she was worried about herself.
She felt disturbingly close to the edge. She’d always assumed that resilience was like a piece of elastic that stretched when you needed it to, but lately she’d tugged and nothing had happened, and she wondered if it was more like string, if there were limits. If it might in fact snap if enough pressure was applied.
Had she reached her limit?
She wanted to talk to someone about it, but there was no one. It was hard to maintain friendships when life was demanding and during the limited time she spent with friends they always skimmed over the deeper issues. She sensed that they were fine (apart from Trisha of course, who definitely wasn’t fine). Or perhaps no one wanted to admit that their lives weren’t perfect. Either way, it meant she had no one to turn to.
Her children loved her, she had no doubt about that, but she was their mother. It was her responsibility to care for them and protect them, whatever their ages, not the other way round. And she didn’t want to worry them. Hannah and Todd had their own lives to lead. They didn’t need to know she wasn’t coping.
The last week had shown her just how alone she was.
Her father would have noticed. Her father would have been there for her.
She had never missed him more. The pain of it gnawed at her insides. If she was stressed or sad, he’d stop whatever he was doing and pay attention to her. He’d say things like, How’s my girl? Sometimes he’d just hug her and tell her, You’re the best.
She badly wanted to hear his voice now. She missed the enveloping comfort, and the certainty of his love that had felt like a safety net when life had sent her spinning through the air. Her father had always been there to catch her.
Now there were nights when she lay awake for hours and worried about how hard she could fall without that safety net. She wondered who, if anyone, might catch her.
A few days before, she’d felt so alone that she’d called Jeff, even though Theo was in the house. She’d thought that just hearing his voice might make her feel better. She’d wanted someone to ask how she was. She’d wanted to remind herself that there were people who cared.
But Jeff hadn’t picked up the phone. She’d called four times, and there had been no answer.
She’d left a message asking him to call her back, but he hadn’t done so, and she was shaken by how bad that made her feel.
Jeff had been a tonic over the past couple of months. He had listened, and cared, and given her what she’d needed. Jeff had given her hope that life could still be fun and exciting, and that she could be wanted and important to someone.
But now she was beginning to wonder if wanting something badly had somehow led her to create it in her mind. She wondered if she’d conjured up a depth of feeling that wasn’t there.
What had it meant to him? She had no idea, and she couldn’t ask him because he’d basically ghosted her.
She’d told herself that he was probably just busy, but so many days had passed that no longer seemed a reasonable explanation. Why hadn’t she heard anything? Perhaps meeting Theo at the party had made him retreat. Or maybe he’d simply decided he was no longer interested in her.
But she would carry on because that was what she did. She had responsibilities. There were people who depended on her and she didn’t want to let anyone down, even though she often felt that people let her down.
Theo appeared, wearing a suit. “We should leave. I don’t want to be late. What are you doing?”
“I’m making food to take with us.” Kristen scattered fresh herbs over the potato salad. Trisha was having a gathering at her house after the funeral, and she’d asked Kristen to bring a few dishes even though she wasn’t sure anyone would feel like eating. Kristen certainly didn’t feel like eating.
The funeral made her think of her father’s funeral. Her chest felt tight. Emotion spilled over.
“I’m dreading this funeral.” She looked at Theo, but he was staring into the mirror adjusting his tie. “Theo?” Look at me! Can’t you see I’m on the edge?
He frowned and tightened the knot. “You’ll be okay. You’re the strongest person I know.”
She stared at his back, wondering how he couldn’t see. Wondering why he didn’t know.
He was a doctor. He was supposed to be able to tell when someone was in distress.
And now she wished she’d said nothing. Better to have stayed silent and imagine that he just wasn’t tuned in to her emotions, than to speak and have her feelings dismissed.
She didn’t feel strong. She felt fragile. She’d used the last of her strength propping him up. Losing Michael had stirred up all the feelings of loss she’d been struggling to handle since her father’s death. Why couldn’t he see that?
“I wouldn’t have made it through the last week without you.” He turned and held her gaze. “Thank you.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she nodded. “I need to make a vinaigrette.”
“Right.” He checked the time. “Have you heard from your mother?”
“Not since her last message. She made it clear she wanted to be left alone, so that’s what I’m doing.”
She waited for Theo to ask how she felt about that. To ask if her feelings were hurt. But instead he reached for the oil and vinegar.
Kristen took the bottles from him and mixed a vinaigrette in a jar which she then slotted into the bag she’d packed for Trisha. “Can you grab the cheesecake from the fridge? Then we should leave.”
Theo didn’t move. “I’m dreading this funeral, too.” For a moment he reminded her of a little boy, vulnerable and afraid. “I wish we didn’t have to go.”
She wished that, too. It was an unfortunate feature of being an adult, that you ended up doing lots of things you didn’t want to do.
“We have to go.” She heaved the bag from the counter. “This is Trish. We have to support her.” Although she still didn’t really know what support Trisha would need. Technically speaking, Trisha wasn’t the widow. She hadn’t even been sure Trisha would be at the funeral but when she’d eventually found the inner strength to call her friend, it turned out that not only was Trisha going to the funeral, she was also organizing it. She asked me to do it, can you believe that?
Candy, the original party animal, apparently didn’t do funerals.
Theo removed the cheesecake from the fridge. “It’s my fault.”
“What is your fault?” Kristen took the cheesecake from him and added it to the bag.
“The fact that Michael is dead.” He’d said the same thing multiple times since that night. It was the first thing he said to her when he woke up and the last thing he said before he went to sleep. My fault.
She felt a rush of compassion and gave the same answer she’d been giving him every day since it happened.
“Theo, it’s not your fault. You weren’t the one who didn’t stop at a junction and drove into his car.”
“But I was the one who was supposed to be able to save him. I keep thinking of all the people I have saved over the years, but I couldn’t save my best friend.”
“You’re a surgeon, Theo, not God.”
He showed no signs of having heard her. “Maybe Trisha won’t want me at the funeral.”
“You’re his oldest friend. Michael loved you. Trisha loves you. She wants you at the funeral.” She hoped he wasn’t going to fall apart, and she hoped she wasn’t going to fall apart thinking of her father. She’d distract herself by making shopping lists in her head. Or maybe she’d think of fruits in alphabetical order. That was one of the tricks she used when her thoughts were spiraling out of control. Apple, banana, cantaloupe.
“I’m grateful to have you.” He crossed the room and hugged her, and she was so surprised that she didn’t move.
“We’ll get through it.” She leaned against him, breathing in the scent of him, feeling his arms tighten. And for a moment she felt less alone. She felt as if those arms were shielding her, as if he was standing between her and the emptiness that threatened to suck her down. Maybe he didn’t always say the right thing. Maybe he didn’t always do the right thing. But in this moment, she felt as if he cared. That was a start.
“I love you, Kristen.” He muttered the words into her hair, and she closed her eyes and wondered whether this terrible turn of events, this pointless waste of a precious life, might in the end result in something wonderful. If it brought her and Theo closer together, then something good would have come from it.
“I love you, too.”
And that was the problem of course. She did still love him, even though she didn’t always love the way her life was with him.
He stroked her hair. “I’m going to make the most of every moment we have together.”
She leaned her head against his shoulder and felt a flicker of hope.
She’d thought that they were stuck, that their situation would never change. That he would never change. She’d thought Theo was Theo. But holding him now, feeling him leaning on her, she wondered whether she might have been wrong about that.