Chapter 31
31
RORY
Rory pulled up on the drive. It was ten days to Elena’s birthday. She still hadn’t received a response to the email she’d sent Jimmy Fletcher as soon as they’d got home from Gayle’s on Monday, a couple of nights ago. Rory yawned. Last night had been a late one too. He’d gone to his apartment to check on the building work, found a few minor issues and had to list them in an email to his builder. The renovation work end date had run over by a week but was now on target to be reached by the weekend after next, very close to Christmas. Then tonight he’d just got back from an after-work, midweek kayaking trip. He’d been to the artificial whitewater centre several times in the last year and it was good catching up with the people he’d kayaked with before. But this time his heart hadn’t been in the actual sport. He didn’t understand why.
He got out of the car and spotted Tahoor at his downstairs front window. Rory waved. Tahoor nodded back. He wasn’t smiling. It was late. Perhaps he was tired. Rory went to Elena’s front door and put his key in the lock. The evening coldness smelt almost smoky. The lights were off downstairs, but then it had gone midnight. He and the others had gone for a pizza after the kayaking. Rory went to turn his key.
Tahoor. Something wasn’t right. He left his holdall behind a bush and went to Tahoor’s. He rang the doorbell.
The door opened. ‘Evening lad. Everything all right?’ Tahoor’s eyes had deep circles under them. Looked a little red. Although his dressing gown was spotless and it looked as if his pyjamas had been ironed.
‘I’m good, just… checking in. Everything okay?’
‘Fine thanks. You been out with friends?’
‘Yes, to a whitewater centre. Boy, it was cold tonight.’
Tahoor’s face brightened. ‘Can I tempt you with a hot chocolate then? I’ve been meaning to come around to see if you want to watch the match with me Monday night. No need for us to take over Elena’s place. I’ve bought in drinks, and snacks.’ An embarrassed look crossed his face. ‘No pressure though. As tonight proves, I imagine you’ve got far more interesting things to do than stay in with an old codger like me.’
‘More interesting than extend my range of swearwords in Urdu? In fact I could do with one right now, to express my annoyance that you’ve so easily seen my true motive for coming over. A hot chocolate is exactly what I need after capsizing, in icy water, in December.’
Tahoor chuckled, and for a moment the shadows under his eyes didn’t look quite so severe. Glad for the warmth, Rory headed inside. Whilst Tahoor put on a pan of milk, Rory settled in the lounge. The room looked… tidier than last time he’d visited and the air smelt fresh and clinical, as if Tahoor had been cleaning. The rug on the floor, printed with colourful patterns, was newly vacuumed, and there wasn’t a speck of dust on the collection of vibrant wall plates depicting snakes, birds and tigers. Also, as he’d walked along the hallway, Rory had passed th ree black dustbin bags of clothes, a colourful sari sticking out of the top of one. Tahoor came in and passed him a mug before sitting down in the mustard, studded wingback armchair opposite.
A look of ecstasy crossed Rory’s face as he sipped. ‘I need this. My kayak upturned and…’ He stared at Tahoor’s mantelpiece and his face broke into a grin. ‘Did Elena give you that red card?’
Tahoor focused on his mug.
‘You kept it?’
Tahoor set down his drink on the round, wooden coffee table between them. Underneath was a neat pile of puzzle books and football magazines. ‘I did, lad. It’s a good reminder of why Elena gave it to me. I… I got upset, in the doorway, when leaving after that Christmas dinner the Sunday before last. You see… I miss Isha so very much and I started crying, but then I felt ashamed and said I shouldn’t cry in front of anyone – especially you, another man. Elena said that comment was sexist towards men and gave me the card. She said’ – his voice wavered – ‘that it’s fine for us men to cry. I… I needed to hear that.’
Oh, mate… Poor Tahoor .
‘I’ve been holding it in. The upset. So I’ve given it a go, given myself permission to let it out. I’ve… I’ve cried a lot over the last week. The first couple of days it left me in bits. I hardly ate, hardly got out of bed. But then…’
Rory nodded for him to go on.
‘It’s difficult to explain, but the tears do make me feel better. The crying fits are less frequent now and don’t last so long. I even cried on the phone to Yalina. She did too. I told her I loved her so very much. We’re going to visit Isha’s grave when she picks me up for Christmas.’ His eyes glistened. ‘I see now that I’ve been hanging onto Isha’s death, using it as an excuse not to move forwards with my life. I’ve stopped seeing my friends so often. I used to go bowling and walking but couldn’t face the jokey camaraderie. Secretly I was pleased this cul-de-sac’s residents are now mostly women. It’s felt easier to hide away. But then you moved in…’
The men smiled at each other.
‘This crying malarkey…’ Tahoor continued. ‘It’s helped me finally sort out Isha’s clothes.’
‘Well done,’ said Rory. He got up. Crouched by Tahoor’s side. Took his hand. ‘You must feel lonely. That’s how my dad felt after we lost Mum, even though I was around. Things will improve, I promise.’
Tahoor wiped his eyes. ‘Elena said the same. Thanks, lad. You two youngsters have given me the push I needed. Now I’ve got a sense of… hope, for the future. I think I was waiting for some magical moment when I’d suddenly get over her death. But it doesn’t work like that.’
They chatted a while longer and then Rory left, after giving Tahoor a hug. Not wanting to wake up Elena, he tip-toed up to the spare room after bolting the front door. She’d never left a note out before asking him to do that. After getting changed and cleaning his teeth, Rory sank into the bedclothes and an uncomfortable sensation rose in his chest.
He picked up his journal.
Wednesday 11th December
I realised in Paris that I’ve been holding back from committing to a relationship, because I didn’t want to get hurt like Dad did, when Mum died. Tonight with Tahoor has confirmed that. Like him, I’ve also been waiting for some magical moment when I’d get over Mum’s death. Perhaps grief is like that for everyone, a song you sing that never ends; there’s always a different verse to add. When death first happens, you assume the song is already written. It’s not. The lyrics, the music, for my song about Mum, started off soft, when I was a toddler. They became angry and wild during the teen years, when I felt sorry for Dad and envied friends with mothers at parents’ evenings; when I found out exactly why she died and blamed myself. During my twenties, the tune has settled into a routine, me visiting Mum’s grave, me avoiding emotional intimacy with partners; a tune that’s become background music – weak, in a way, without direction. It just goes on and on and on. Whereas I can see Dad’s song has grown in recent years, in strength, in vibrancy, as he’s trusted romance again and now found his long-term girlfriend, Jenny. It’s reached an end point of acceptance and harmony, the baseline of which is everlasting love for his Linda. She’s there, always there, but not in a way that holds him back. His song is solid, everlasting, but the volume’s turned down.
Chatting to Gayle told me more about Elena… How safety-conscious she was as a child, a child who liked routine, a child like an adult in so many ways… Perhaps she’d grown up quickly, what with being bullied. My neighbour, Julian, had a difficult childhood and had to grow up quickly too. He loved his mum but she was domineered by his dad, who teased Julian about his gap teeth and said working with animals was a cop out, and who was generous with his fists when Julian tried to protect his mum. I never knew mine, but Dad always did his best to support me like two parents would have.
Okay. In case I’m losing your attention with my musical metaphors and reflection on my childhood, I’ll share some figures.
1 tank arrived for the stick insects – it’s huge! 45 x 45 x 60cm. But as Elena pointed out, it’s nowhere near as big as a rainforest. She’d also ordered a special substrate for the floor and a little rope bridge, along with a guide on how best to look after stick insects. Her excitement was contagious and I wanted to wrap her in my arms as she chatted about Brandy and Snap’s new home, to feel her breath on my neck, to run my fingers along the curve of her hip and… I need to keep those dreams in check.
30 minutes is how long Elena disappeared for last night. One moment she was in her bedroom, the next she was gone. I’d knocked on her door when I got back from surveying the building work at my apartment to see if she wanted a drink, as I’d put the kettle on. She’d been on the landing, heading for her room, when I’d got in and took off my coat. But there was no response, even after I knocked harder. 30 minutes later, the landing floorboards creaked and I opened my bedroom door. Elena stood stock still, as if she shouldn’t have been there, and mumbled some excuse about having been downstairs to fetch a drink of water. But if that had been the case, surely she’d have brought a glass back up?