CHAPTER THREE
ANGIE
Whoever the hell is banging the shit out of my front door needs to understand something. My husband died a week ago, so unless they’re here to tell me this whole thing is a sick prank, I’m not interested.
Rolling over, I realise the likelihood of that happening is zero. Instead, I’ll stay here, safe in my bed with my husband’s things around me and his scent on my pillow. This is all I need.
This morning, I picked up a message from the coroner’s office telling me I could arrange his funeral, and this afternoon, I can collect his belongings. If I do what they want, it means I’m accepting he’s gone and the simple truth is I’m not ready.
The banging continues. Why won’t they leave me alone? Don’t they get it? My entire world has fallen apart, or is this just a process to them? I wonder if any of these people have a heart at all.
“Angie, it’s me. Open the door. Please?”
Her voice calling through the letterbox jerks my eyes wide open. “Calla,” I whisper out loud. She is the one person who understands. I drag myself out of bed, pulling on my thick fleece dressing gown as I thud down the stairs.
To the side of our wooden door are two panes of frosted glass, and a blurred version of Calla’s face is pressed against it.
I ignore the pile of letters trapped underneath the door as I struggle to open it. Who is sending me so much crap at a time like this?
Concerned, glassy eyes meet mine. “There you are.” She looks down at the stack of envelopes on the floor, then her lips purse as she tilts her head to one side. My tears spill uncontrollably at the sight of my best friend.
Calla pushes her way through, and as soon as she’s inside, I fall into her arms, resting my head against her shoulder. She smooths my hair at the back of my head. “I'm here now. Don’t worry.”
Gently, Calla guides me back inside the house and settles me on the sofa. Once she’s cleared the stack of letters from my door, she takes a seat beside me, holding my hand in hers.
“You have a lot of cards to open.”
I close my eyes at the thought. “Why do people send cards when someone dies? The last thing I need is everyone telling me how sorry they are.”
“Your friends want you to know they’re thinking of you.” Her reply only makes the lump at the back of my throat harder to swallow. “We can’t keep doing this, Angie. I'm worried sick about you. Please, come and stay with us.”
I sigh out loud and look around the room.
How can I make her understand I need to be here with his clothes in the wardrobe, his aftershave in the bathroom, and the last music he listened to on Spotify, blasting from his custom speakers?
Everything he ever did has an imprint in this house and, although we only rent it, there is so much of him in every single room. I don’t want to be anywhere else.
It’s a shame. We were all set to move before he died, but the house we planned to buy fell through just a few days ago.
In a way, it was a blessing in disguise.
Scott was the one with all the vision. He was an amazing carpenter and wanted to strip the place bare and start again.
I’m not sure I even liked the new house, but I knew he would have turned it into the perfect home for us.
“For now, all I have left of Scott is here. This house is where I’m closest to him. ”
Calla places a supportive hand over mine. “I understand, I do. I loved him too. But I also love you and I’m concerned that being alone with your thoughts is not good for you or the baby.”
Her words strike right in my heart. I am the worst kind of person. Scott left me with the most precious gift, but all I can focus on is getting through each day. I can’t think about which vitamins to take or hospital appointments.
“Angie?”
I shake my head, bringing my attention back to Calla. “I’m sorry. You must think I'm being difficult, but I promise I’m not. You have Ash off his feet, Zoe to take care of, and you’re also pregnant. I can’t add to the strain already on you.”
“If you came to me, it would relieve some of that strain. I would stop worrying and could take care of everyone. Liz is around to help, and the boys from the band. Tommy’s been asking after you.”
“That’s kind, but I don’t need anyone else.” The truth is, I’m not sure I can cope with everyday life going on around me when I’m not ready. At this point, I don’t know what normal looks like for me.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“I’m not sure.” I can’t answer that question. My memory is non-existent on the subject of food.
“You've lost a lot of weight. You need to eat properly.”
“I won’t go hungry, Cal. I can eat later.” My freezer is full of homemade shepherd’s pies and soups dropped in by friends. It’s kind of them to care, but I have no appetite at all.
Calla’s hand brushes back and forth over mine. “How about I do you a deal? Come back with me for the night and I’ll make you some dinner.”
“How is that a deal?”
“Because I said it is.” She smiles, although it’s sorrowful.
“But I’m not hungry.” The very thought of food brings the acid taste of bile to my mouth.
Her voice cracks. “I need you to keep trying, Angie. Please. Scott wouldn't want this for you.”
Tears burst from my eyes, along with a sob I can’t contain. “How am I meant to carry on without him, Cal? I can't see a way past this.”
Calla shifts herself close and holds me.
“Shh,” she soothes. “The future is too big to think about right now. I’m only asking you to stay with us for a night and have dinner.
Nothing more. Do you think you can do that?
” She passes me a tissue from the box on the table.
For a few seconds, I lose myself in thoughts related to nothing and everything, then I turn towards Calla.
She has tears running down her cheeks. I’m so engulfed in my grief that it’s easy to forget she’s grieving too.
Taking the tissue from her hand, I wipe away her tears before my own and her sorrowful smile returns.
“I'm happy you’re here,” I tell her. “But I don’t have the strength for anything much. The pain inside won’t let up, and I’m not the most sociable at the moment. I was never meant to live without him, Cal. I’m not sure I can do it.”
She nods. “Nobody expects anything from you. All you have to do is be physically with us and we can take care of the rest.”
Calla is so strong. “How are you able to keep going like this? He was your brother; you lost him too.”
“I keep busy by looking after everyone else, which is why I need you to come home with me. This is for me as much as it is for you. This is my way of coping,” she replies with a warm hug.
When I’m released from her hold, I catch Calla’s eyes. There is so much hope shining back at me. This is the moment I realise; I can’t let her down. “Okay then. I'll come.”
Her face lights up with relief. “You will? That’s brilliant, Angie.” She reaches for my hand, taking it in hers once again. “Thank you.”
“Give me time to jump in the shower, though. It's been a few days.” I sniff.
“Sounds good. How about I make us a cup of tea and tackle some of your post or the washing while you get ready?”
“There is no washing.” I look down at my slobby appearance. “I’ve been wearing these pyjamas for over a week.”
“Hmm, I can tell.” She screws up her nose and smirks.
“All right. Hint taken.” I half-heartedly smile.
Getting in the shower or getting dressed, or even drinking a bloody cup of tea, is the last thing I want to do, but I will, for my friend and my baby growing inside me. We need each other to deal with the pain.
Calla throws her jacket on the coat stand. I’m about to do the same when she flies over to my side. “Let me help you with that.”
My hand falls to her arm. “I’ve got it.” As much as I love her, I don’t want to be smothered.
“Sorry. I’m fussing, aren’t I?”
Now I feel bad when I look into Calla’s eyes. I’ve upset her. “No, Cal. It’s me. I’m oversensitive, that’s all.”
Her mouth flickers upward briefly. I hope she didn't think that was rude.
“Baby?” Ash calls from the living room.
“Just coming,” Calla calls over her shoulder.
She leads the way to where Ash lounges with his guitar across his middle. His leg is in plaster and resting on a stool. She kisses him full on the lips and runs a hand across his jaw. She probably doesn’t realise how envious I am that she gets to touch her husband like that.
“Look who I’ve finally dragged over.” Calla glances towards me.
Ash’s eyes widen. “Angie. Hey.” He places the guitar by his side.
“Come here, you.” He holds out his arms, but I’m not sure I want to hug him.
Is that wrong of me? Do I have to give myself another talking to?
I force myself forward regardless. Scott would want me to look after Ash, so I try to smile instead of being angry that he’s here and my husband isn’t.
I am trying not to have these thoughts, but they just slip into my head without warning.
I don’t mean them. There’s no way I’d wish this nightmare on anyone, especially my best friends.
No words pass between us when I lean forward and hug Ash.
As I step away, he grips my hand. I see by the sadness in his eyes that he wants to say something but can’t find the words, and now I feel guilty for not wanting to be near him.
Ash and Scott were friends right from primary school and I should respect the fact that I’m not the only one missing him.
“How are you feeling now?” I ask, breaking the silence. “Still in pain?”
“I have another four weeks with my leg in plaster and my ribs are fucked, but I’m slowly getting better.” We both nod and the silence returns for a few seconds. “What about you? How are you doing?” he asks.
Swallowing the hard lump in my throat and forcing back a wave of emotion, I tell myself I can do this. “I’m doing shit, thanks.”
Ash huffs out a sad smile. “Yeah, that was a stupid question.”