Chapter 30
When I arrived back at Mallard Close feeling so much lighter for telling Paulette everything, the ‘for sale’ board was up.
Inside the house, I released Trevor, misted him, then stood by the window for a while looking at the board and thinking about the enormous change ahead of me.
Moving house was huge but I had no doubt in my mind about it.
Trevor joined me at the dining table and I opened my journal to the page signposted a new home for me.
I placed a sticker showing a ‘for sale’ sign on it and wrote today’s date beside it.
I turned to the next page – see more of the local area with my new friends – and rummaged through my stickers until I found a mug of coffee and a willow tree.
I placed them on the page and added the words The White Willow with Paulette and the date.
The next page was Venice. The timing wasn’t right with the house move and establishing Created With Love, but I was going to believe that it would happen eventually.
I flicked back a few pages to the section about things I’d start doing.
The third entry was still blank but I knew what it needed to be.
I opened up a sticker pack devoted to music.
Among the illustrations of record players, speakers, stereos and headphones were several musical instruments and notations.
I removed a grand piano, a treble clef and a line containing four bars of music, and added them to the centre of the page.
This year I was going to start playing the piano again.
Even though my experience in Pianos of Distinction had been truly wonderful, there was no way I could play the piano without thinking about Will so, yet again, I had to shut myself off from my beloved instrument to protect me from the memories.
I didn’t tell Cliff about visiting the showroom as I didn’t want him to encourage me to return to the piano when I knew that playing would evoke too many painful memories of a love I’d had to let go.
Today, I didn’t feel that way anymore but, if I was going to return to playing, I needed an instrument.
I wasn’t aware of there being any piano showrooms locally but a search on my phone brought up one in Carlisle called Celestial Sounds.
It was closed on Sundays but I could see if Paulette or one of the others fancied joining me in the next week or so.
Lorna the estate agent called as I was making myself a mug of tea to tell me they’d had lots of clicks on my listing and already had two viewings lined up on Monday and Tuesday.
That made the move feel more real in a way that signing the paperwork hadn’t.
I didn’t need to do a panic clean and tidy because I never let the house get into a mess, but there was something I’d been putting off for years that did need tackling.
I retrieved a roll of bin bags from the kitchen and, upstairs, opened the door to Cliff’s bedroom at the front of the house.
It was slightly larger than mine but he’d given me first dibs and I’d preferred the one at the back overlooking the garden.
I regularly aired it, vacuumed and dusted, so there was no problem with the room itself.
The issue was what lay behind the wardrobe doors.
Ripping off one of the bin bags, I billowed it out before opening the nearest wardrobe door.
As the bin bag deflated, so did I. How could looking at a hanging rail of shirts evoke so many memories?
I ran my finger along the different fabrics with a sigh then closed the door, dropped the bag on the floor and returned to Trevor downstairs.
It had been an emotional day for me with opening up to Paulette and I didn’t need to do this too.
I was already swamped with thoughts of what might have been with Will if only that courier hadn’t pulled out of the junction at the exact moment Cliff was passing, if only we’d exchanged phone numbers or surnames or any details that could have helped us find each other.
What ifs and maybes seemed to rule my life.
I’d make something to eat and relax in front of a film instead.
* * *
The following morning, I woke up with fresh determination to tackle Cliff’s bedroom. I opened the wardrobe door and ran my fingers across his shirts once more. I should have cleared them out before now. At first it had felt too soon, and then it had felt too hard. And now…
I lifted out what had been my favourite shirt on him – a short-sleeved blue checked one with a subtle pink thread running through the checks.
He’d been a good-looking man but he’d looked extra handsome when wearing that.
He’d worn it on our first night in Madeira.
I pressed my nose to the collar and, even though it had been worn and washed several times since that holiday, I could smell his body spray on it. Or perhaps that was my imagination.
Lying the shirt on the bed, still on its hanger, I reached for another one – long-sleeved with dark grey stripes – which he’d worn on Christmas Day.
Each shirt I removed triggered special memories and, before I knew it, I was slumped on the bed cradling a stack of shirts to my chest, hangers digging into me, sobbing for my loss.
I might not have been in love with Cliff but I’d loved him deeply and missed him so much.
I let the tears flow – no point in trying to dam my grief as it would only find another way out.
When the wave passed, I laid the shirts down and removed the first one from the hanger but I couldn’t bring myself to fold it up and place it in the bin bag.
Had I made this task more difficult by leaving it for so long?
I rang Paulette, figuring she must have done this twice and perhaps she had some advice.
I suspected it would be a case of you just have to rip off the plaster but I was hoping there’d be something more helpful she could offer.
When my call went to voicemail, I remembered our conversation about booking an alpaca walk.
Paulette was probably doing that with the girls right now and would have her phone on silent.
Even if she hadn’t managed to book a slot, I’d said no to the alpaca walk so she could spend some quality time with the girls so it wasn’t fair of me to call her and demand her time just because I was upset.
Not wanting her to spot the missed call and ring me back, I sent her a quick text saying I’d called in error and would catch up with her next week.
Paulette couldn’t help me now, but I could think of someone else who might be able to.
* * *
Half an hour later, Veronica arrived.
‘It’s a dreadful task,’ she said as we stood in the bedroom doorway. ‘It can stir up all sorts of emotions but it needs to be done and my advice is to do it with someone else. Paulette’s mother helped her after Hector died and one of their daughters helped sort through Stephen’s belongings.’
‘Did your daughters help you?’ I asked, thinking it was odd that she’d mentioned Paulette’s situation but not her own.
She sighed heavily as she shook her head.
‘Felicity offered but wouldn’t commit to a date.
Rebecca offered instead but that riled up Felicity who said I’d already agreed to her support.
I couldn’t face the thought of them both turning up and fighting when I was already dreading the task so I told them I’d bitten the bullet and done it myself. I hadn’t. A friend helped me.’
‘Your daughters fought over clearing out their dad’s wardrobe too?’ I asked, feeling Veronica’s pain.
‘As I said, it’s all a competition and, frankly, it’s exhausting. Let’s focus on you, though. What specifically is stopping you from saying goodbye to Cliff’s belongings?’
‘All the memories.’ I grabbed a couple of shirts and shared what they triggered.
‘Rather than donating his shirts, what about repurposing them into a patchwork quilt? That way you can retain the memories but gain your wardrobe space back. There’s a wonderful mixture of plain and patterned shirts and a strong colour scheme of blues, greys and purples.’
While Veronica searched on her phone for alternative ideas, I considered her suggestion of a quilt.
She was right about the complementary range of fabrics and colours but making a quilt was a big project and, if I was finding it hard seeing all of Cliff’s shirts right now, would I only be prolonging my grief?
And what would I do with it anyway when it was complete?
The colour scheme wouldn’t work in my bedroom and I wasn’t sure I’d want to wrap a quilt around me made from my dead husband’s shirts.
‘If you fancied making something smaller, what about a memory bear?’ Veronica handed me her phone and I scrolled through some of the images of teddy bears, large and small, made from the clothing of a loved one.
It would be perfect. I’d never made a teddy bear before so that could be the new craft I learned this year, and a bear made from Cliff’s shirts would be small, subtle and special.
‘I love that idea,’ I said, smiling at Veronica.
‘Wonderful! I’d suggest you start by selecting your favourite shirts – the ones which will blend well together – and then we pack the rest away for charity.’
‘Thank you for doing this with me. It’s so good of you to give up your Sunday like this.’
‘Yvonne, I’ve been where you are. I know how much it hurts and, if I can take even a small part of that pain away, my Sunday will have been well spent. Although I wouldn’t say no to us taking a break for a carvery at The Fox and Rabbit if you don’t have any lunch plans.’
I smiled at her. ‘I’ll make the booking.’
In some ways, I was glad that I hadn’t been able to get hold of Paulette as it gave me a chance to spend some quality time with Veronica. How lucky was I to have found so many kind friends who were helping me heal and get my life back on track?