Chapter 39 #2
‘Why? Why did you do this?’ I demand. ‘Why did you take him so young? Was he just too good to resist? Did you just want to have him there with you because he’s so funny and lovely and kind and smart and such good company?
But what about what he wanted? He should have had his whole life to live.
Have you really made him happy there? And what about me?
I wanted him here. I wanted to be the one to make him happy.
What gives you the right to have first refusal?
I mean, I know you’re God and all that, but your USP is meant to be how kind and giving you are to us.
It’s hardly kind and giving to take away the one man I want to be with.
And as for that nonsense about answering prayers…
really?! He’d be back here with me if that were true.
You should be ashamed of yourself, peddling lies like that.
If you’re going to take the best people like James for yourself, at least don’t pretend to be this benevolent, all-loving being.
Be honest. Admit it – you’re just as selfish as the rest of us! ’
And with that, I march down the aisle and out of the church, still seething with rage.
Now, back at home, I’m grateful for the comfort of the raspberry gin.
Two or three glasses later, the gin has really started to hit the spot.
I should really return Frank’s call. His granddaughters have apparently been asking to come round here tomorrow.
And Olive has left two messages. But I just want to find a way to dull this terrible ache inside me.
I used to tell myself I had to keep going, couldn’t risk going to the bad place.
But now I just want this pain to end. I know deep down all the gin in the world couldn’t wash away this grief, but I may as well have some more anyway.
And now I’m feeling a desperate urge to go up to the crem, a desperate urge to talk to James.
Maybe I’ll give it just one more try to connect with him.
The clock says six-fifty, so if I go now and put my foot down I should be able to get to the crem just after seven, and I’ll have nearly half an hour there before it closes.
I’ve just grabbed my bag when the doorbell rings.
It still makes me shudder, no matter how much time passes.
And who on earth’s calling round now? Oh no, it’s Carol. I really don’t need this right now.
‘Hello Carol!’ I say in the brightest voice I can muster. ‘I wasn’t expecting you – sorry, was I meant to be expecting you?’
‘No, darling. I was just thinking I hadn’t seen you in a while, and I’ve been at my Pilates class, so I was almost passing. So I thought I’d drop in, see how you are. And—’
‘Well, I was just about to go up to the crem,’ I say, fumbling for the car keys from the bowl in the hall. ‘Do you want to come with me?’
I’m having trouble putting on my ankle boots, and I stumble slightly. Carol puts her arms out to stop me falling.
‘Amy! Are you all right?’
‘I’m… I’m fine. Absolutely fine.’
‘Have you been drinking, Amy?’
‘A bit. Sorry, that was rude of me. I should have offered you a drink. Would you like a gin before we go? I wouldn’t mind another one myself.’
‘Amy! What’s going on? You can’t go up to the crem. You can’t drive in this state. You’ll get yourself killed. Whatever’s got into you?’
Carol grabs the car keys out of my hand and steers me into the living room.
‘Gin. I think you’ll find that’s what’s got into me. Yep, gin. Actually, raspberry gin. And tonic. You should have some before we go out. I’ll get you a glass. Ice?’
Carol doesn’t answer. She’s looking around, taking in the changes.
‘Goodness, this looks different.’
She doesn’t sound too positive. I thought she was the one person who’d be delighted that I’ve cleared the place of anything to do with James.
‘Shall I get you that gin, Carol? How about some tiffin?’ I go into the kitchen without waiting for her answer. I hear a slightly muffled sound from the living room. ‘Sorry, was that a yes to tiffin?’
There’s no reply. I go back into the living room, and Carol is standing there with her hands on her face looking like she’s about to burst into tears. Carol doesn’t do tears. Oh god, but she is, she’s actually crying.
‘Carol, what’s wrong?’
Carol’s dabbing furiously at the edges of her eyes with a tissue. But it’s like trying to tackle a burst dam with a bucket.
‘Carol? What’s wrong?’
I put my arm round her shoulder, and she suddenly clings on to me. The sobs are growing. What on earth’s going on? We move unsteadily over to a sofa and both flop down. And now her crying has set me off, and I was so determined not to cry again today.
‘The photos. What happened to all the photos?’ she whispers through her tears.
‘I put them away. Like you said. You were right.’
‘Oh Amy…’ Carol is struggling to speak. The tears are pouring down her cheeks.
Eventually the sobs start to subside. I put my hand on her arm, but now the tears start up again.
‘No, I wasn’t. I wasn’t right,’ she says quietly.
‘But you are, you’ve got it all under control. Not like me, all those visits to the crem, refusing to accept that he’s gone, and it’s over. You’re so much stronger. You don’t wallow in it. You just get on with life. You’re so resilient.’
‘That’s what I thought too. But really I was just pretending to myself.
No, Amy. You were the strong one. You faced up to your grief.
I just hid mine away. You were able to keep his memory alive, despite how painful it was – you didn’t need to bury all the memories, like I did.
I just couldn’t bear to be reminded of him that much.
He was so precious to me. That’s why I put all the photos away.
That’s why I tried not to talk about him, got rid of all his things.
But it hasn’t done me any good – look at the state of me!
I’ve just been delaying the inevitable, putting off the day when I have to find a way to deal with the reality that he’s gone, and face the enormous hole he’s left in my life – in all our lives. ’
The tears start to flow thick and fast again.
‘Oh Amy, don’t become like me. Don’t hide away or give away everything that belonged to him or everything that reminds you of him.
It’s not who you are – you’re not like that.
You can’t bury your emotions. You’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve, Amy.
That’s one of the many things James loved about you, we all love about you. ’
‘But I’m not sure that is who I am any more. I don’t know,’ I say, sniffing as I rummage in my pocket for a tissue.
‘It is you. Don’t let his death change you. Don’t change who you are, Amy. James would never have wanted that. Can you imagine how he’d feel if he thought he’d left you permanently scarred from this?’
‘I’ve tried not to let it change me. But I can’t help it. And what do we do now? Where do we go from here?’
‘I don’t know, Amy. But what I do know is I need to face up to this loss.
I need to stop pretending everything’s okay.
And I need to stop pushing you to move on.
I need to accept that you don’t want another man in your life right now.
James was incredibly special, one of a kind, and maybe for now the best we can do is to cherish the memories of the wonderful years we had with him. ’
Tears are now pouring down my face too. Carol pulls me close, and envelops me in a hug, a proper loving hug. And we sit clinging on to each other like two shipwreck survivors, united in our loss and despair.