Chapter 22
HELENA SPENT HER first night in the flat alone, listening out for signs of life, sure that her flatmate would be making an appearance at some point.
At some ungodly hour the front door slammed, and within moments thumping music filtered through the paper-thin wall, echoing the pulsing headache that hammered at her temples.
The mattress was unbearably uncomfortable.
She stared at the ceiling. A damp patch in the rough outline of the United Kingdom watched over her.
Peeling paint in a miserable shade of grey clad the walls.
For the millionth time she asked herself the question, how had she ended up here?
Closing her eyes to block out her grim new reality she allowed memories of happier times to flicker through her mind.
Raffy and Helena in the park, the paddling pool, cycling through the woods; Noah spinning her around as they danced in the garden, giving her the ring that she wore on her wedding finger, promising to be with her forever, married or not.
These memories morphed into flashes of anger, his fist inches from her face, him pushing her around and swearing at her, the vitriol and spite.
She would do anything to wind back the clock and forge herself a different path.
One where she hadn’t been discarded like a worthless possession that no longer served its purpose.
Never had Helena imagined how soul-destroying loneliness could feel.
She felt like a single drop of oil in a vast ocean, painfully aware of her isolation, separate from the tangle of humanity she seemed no longer to be a part of.
She couldn’t work out how she had become so completely alone.
The only person who cared about her existence was Margery.
There was no one else. She had no colleagues.
She had no real friends. She had never crossed the boundary from acquaintance to genuine friendship with the local mums she had known through Raffy’s school, like Nathalie.
Besides, it was too painful to even consider having to face them now, with their beaming, happy children.
Without a child she would have no place amongst them.
Missing Raffy was by far the most painful thing of all.
Helena felt empty without him. His absence left a gaping hole inside her, an infinite void that she already knew could never be filled.
She had spent hours and hours each day looking at photographs and videos of him, grateful that she had taken so many.
Watching how he had changed from a toddler to a confident young boy, she marvelled at how the years had flown.
If she had only known that her time was finite she would have paid more attention, she would have been more present, committed more to memory, tried to give him more love, more cuddles and more kisses in the time that she had.
The worst part of it all was when she thought of him missing her, his lack of understanding of why it had come to such an abrupt and sudden end.
Thoughts like that were the hardest to cope with and had had Helena reaching for alcohol to drown the pain.
She had no idea how many times she had drunk dialled Noah’s mobile in the last month.
It was never turned on, not once. She had lost track of the number of slurred voicemails she had left him, pouring out her heart and soul, the irate, desperate emails she had sent.
She no longer had a shred of dignity left to hold onto, she had begged and pleaded with him to change his mind, to make some form of contact.
She told him she just needed to know that Raffy was okay, but even that was clearly too much to ask.
Summoning all her courage, she had reached out to some old friends.
She had sent a few friendly messages, but no one had even bothered to reply.
She realised now, too late, that liking the odd post was not enough to maintain a friendship.
You had to talk, to meet up, to connect.
Without that, the bond of friendship that had once existed between herself and others had disintegrated.
There was no one for her to turn to, no family to take her in and help lift her out of her depression, to stand by her side and hold her hand while she took the first tentative steps towards building a new life for herself.
Without friends or family around her she had nothing to live for.
She felt pointless and irrelevant. Nothing but a waste of space.
Helena had finally drifted off to sleep in an alcohol induced fug only to be woken by a loud thudding against the bedroom wall.
From the sound of the accompanying groans, her new flatmate was having an extremely energetic session in bed.
Didn’t they realise how thin the walls were in this flat?
The constant noise of traffic from the road outside was bad enough but being forced to listen to other people have sex was soul-destroying.
In her current state she wondered whether she would ever have sex again.
She missed the intimacy of someone sharing her bed: even when Noah had been fast asleep on the other side of the mattress, at least he had been there.
As the noise through the wall became ever more ear-shattering Helena reached for the pillow and pressed it against her ears in a bid to muffle the sounds. It was no use.
At long last, when the moans subsided and the creaking bed stopped rocking against the wall, Helena closed her eyes and willed herself back to sleep.
She had run out of alcohol. She would have to gear herself up for a trip out to the shops tomorrow.
She knew she should do some job hunting on the way home.
She couldn’t carry on like this for much longer, her bank account was almost empty.
She was teetering on the edge of an abyss.
She woke with an unbearably dry mouth, unsure what time she had finally drifted off.
After yet another night of drinking, her tongue felt as though it had swollen to double its usual size.
Her head ached. Her limbs were devoid of energy, but she was desperate for water.
Her ears strained to listen out for noises from her mysterious flatmate.
She prayed he wouldn’t come in and introduce himself.
Hopefully he would think she was still sleeping.
She heard the shower turn on, two voices talking, then the front door slam.
She peeked out of her window to see the back of two heads disappear around the corner.
Breathing a sigh of relief that she was alone in the flat once again she dragged herself to the kitchen to fill her glass.
Empty cartons of takeaway littered the work surfaces, a sticky residue coated the floor.
As she reached to turn on the tap she squealed as something cold and slimy squelched between her toes.
She didn’t even want to know what it was.
Trying to ignore her pounding headache she picked up the stained, filthy dishcloth and wiped her foot before throwing it in the bin.
She drained her glass of water and refilled it.
Sighing loudly, she crossed the tiny landing and went into the bathroom.
She suddenly felt violently sick. She rushed over to the loo and retched.
She pressed the flush and lowered the loo seat to sit down for a moment, trying to steady her trembling hands.
The floor was flooded with water and the wet bathmat lay grey and abandoned in one corner.
She picked it up and draped it over the edge of the bath before washing her hands thoroughly.
She used the last of the loo roll to blow her nose.
She crammed the empty roll into the overflowing pedal bin.
She took a long, hard look at herself in the mirror.
There was no denying it: she looked horrific.
She imagined what her mother would say if she was standing beside her.
‘Recentre yourself,’ the voice echoed within her.
‘Everything is unfolding just as it’s meant to, you’ll see.
’ She turned the shower on and waited for it to heat up.
As she washed first her hair and then her body, she tried to stay in the moment as her mother would have advised, noticing the warm water, the minty smell of the shower gel, the cold air against her damp skin as the wind whistled through a gap in the window.
Stepping out of the tub, she dried her body, ran a brush through her hair and squeezed out any moisture into her towel.
As she pulled on some tracksuit bottoms and a jumper the doorbell rang. To her horror, she could hear Margery’s voice out on the street, calling her name.
‘Helena?’ The doorbell rang again, followed by knocking.
She contemplated leaving her out on the street, but it felt too cruel, especially knowing she’d driven all the way out to see her. She couldn’t bring her inside, Margery couldn’t know how awful the flat was. She pulled on her coat, grabbed the key and ran down the stairs.
‘Margery!’ she said, plastering on a smile as she gave her a hug. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I wanted to bring you a little housewarming gift,’ Margery said, giving her a small potted pink rose.
‘That is so kind of you.’ Helena felt moved to tears and so grateful for her only friend in the world making the effort to come and see her.
‘Well come on then, let’s go inside and you can show me around!’ Margery grinned at her. ‘I can’t wait to see the new place.’
She barged past Helena, who suddenly felt lost for words, and marched up the stairs.
‘Number 2, right?’ Margery said, pausing outside the peeling door with its flat number hanging off the nail at a ninety-degree angle. ‘Well, this could do with a bit of TLC for a start!’
‘It’s not very tidy in there,’ Helena protested. ‘I’m not sure it’s quite ready to receive guests…’