The Day I Lost You: A heartfelt, emotion-packed, twist-filled read

‘You did? Portsmouth? When?’

‘I took your birthday off. Fully intended taking you with me for the day but you fucked off and left me at the school gate. So, I drove there on my own.’

Shit. My face winces an apology. ‘How long are you staying up there for?’

‘Leave at seven thirty tomorrow morning, four hours twenty up, lunch and a quick walk, then same back. Gus is driving. Portsmouth and back was enough to knacker me. Pug will love it.’

I nod, know when I’m beaten, begin to steel myself immediately for my mother’s food and sympathy, for my father’s fragile stares.

‘You have to let them care, Jess.’ Leah reads my mind. ‘They’re grieving too,’ she adds.

Gus is searing the steaks on a hot plate. He turns them over, making zigzag patterns on the flesh. To his right, he stirs a pot of home-made mushroom sauce. Even the sizzle and scent of such lovely food don’t whet my appetite but I will, for his sake, force myself to eat. Pug is asleep at my feet.

‘How’s Theo doing?’ Leah is mashing potatoes with what looks like a half-pound of butter. Fine for her because she won’t eat them. Not so good for my already screaming arteries.

‘He’s okay, busy … Finn starts secondary school in September. Can you believe that?’

‘Yes, but how is he? Theo. How is he doing?’

I know a loaded question when I hear one and turn to look at my sister.

‘Why?’ I arch my eyebrows at her and at the plate of food that Gus has just presented me with. It has the most enormous doorstep of a steak and a mountain of creamy, oozing, buttery mash. There is a serving dish laden with carrots, squash and swede, a celebration of orange vegetables, in the centre of the table.

‘Enjoy, birthday girl!’ he beams.

I smile my thanks.

‘Why, Leah?’ I repeat. ‘You know something I don’t?’ I slice through the steak with the serrated knife.

‘You know what chambers are like. The place is rife with rumours.’

There are times I forget that Leah, as a senior practice manager for a firm of barristers, moves in the same circles as Harriet. I feel immediate colour rush to my cheeks.

‘Ahh,’ she says, seeing my discomfort, ‘so it’s not rumour then?’

I sigh loudly. ‘What have you heard?’

‘That Harriet’s shagging her boss, Roland. That that’s why she left Theo.’

I frown, try to chew my food so I won’t have to confirm or deny anything. Leah’s delicate kick in my shins reminds me I won’t get away with that.

‘Ouch, do not kick me.’

‘Speak. Now.’ She points the sharp end of her knife at me.

‘Ladies, ladies …’ Gus shakes his head. ‘Eat up!’ He looks in my direction. ‘Jess, you need to eat, you’re fading away. And Leah, stop gossiping.’

‘Yes, Leah. Stop gossiping.’ I play with the steak on my plate. ‘Thank you for this, Gus. I’m sorry again that I cancelled last night.’

Gus places his fork on his plate and squeezes my forearm with his hand. ‘Forget about it. I’ve told you – no harm done and you’re here now.’ My hand gives his a reassuring tap. He releases me and lifts his wine glass, tilts it in my direction and smiles. His silent toast to me is all that is needed.

‘Harriet?’ Leah persists as Gus turns his head fully to glare at her.

‘I have no idea if Harriet is shagging anyone,’ I reply.

‘If it’s true, I suppose that means they’re over?’

‘Let’s hope not.’ As I speak the words aloud, I’m not sure I mean them. In the many years I’ve known Theo, Harriet has always been pleasant, always been polite, but she tolerates more than likes me. I’ve sat at her dinner table; we spent last Christmas together, all of us: me, Anna and Rose. She constantly says the ‘right thing’ to me, but more often than not it has a ring of insincerity to it – except maybe after Anna’s accident. She did write me a lovely letter then. My face flushes guiltily as I tell myself off for thinking badly of her, and at the same time hand Pug her first illicit mouthful of steak.

It’s 11.50 p.m. and I’ve texted Theo’s mobile to let him know I’m standing outside his front door. Moments later he opens it, rubs sleep from his eyes.

‘Jess? It’s late … Bloody hell, is that a dog in your hand?’

‘It’s ten to twelve. Happy Valentine’s Day and yes, I’m carrying a dog. Say hi to Pug. Apparently I need a recipient for all my unconditional love.’

‘Valentine’s Day … Really?’ He scratches his head above his right ear, just along the line where his hair changes from black to grey, stifles a yawn. ‘And there are always conditions in love,’ he says.

‘When did you become such a cynic?’ I shiver. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’

He holds the door open for me to pass under his arm. ‘Go through. I’ll put the kettle on,’ he says.

I cross Harriet’s threshold close to midnight. As I’m doing it, I know I wouldn’t be if she were still here.

‘I’m sorry for getting you up.’ I look around the huge kitchen as we listen to the beginning hum of the kettle. ‘Have you changed something in here? It looks different.’

‘Just a coat of paint. I did it last week.’

‘Looks good.’ I can imagine him, up a stepladder every evening, the news channel on full blast on the television, trying hard to keep busy. ‘There’s something I want to say.’

He’s dangling a couple of tea bags in two mugs, one in each hand. ‘Hmmm?’ he says.

‘I was at Leah’s earlier, finally got around to eating the birthday dinner Gus planned – anyway, she asked me about you and I realized that I’ve been too immersed in my own life to …’ Pug is pacing Theo’s quarry tiles, picks a spot in the corner near the Aga and squats. I’m there immediately with some kitchen paper from a roll on the worktop. ‘Sorry.’

He hands me a cup of strong, black tea, just the way I like it.

‘Where was I? Oh, I was trying to say I don’t think I’ve been here for you.’

‘Jess, you had Anna to deal with. Have Anna to deal with. Harriet and I—’

I shake my head. ‘It’s not a competition. Friends help each other. I haven’t been around for you. That’s all I wanted to say, so, I’ll finish this cup of tea and be on my way with Pug.’

I stare at him over the rim of the mug. We have an unusual friendship; have done since that day he first came to the surgery as a visiting locum and drove into the back of my car. The memory of a much less self-assured, younger Theo comes to mind. A memory of him being on duty in A&E the night a teenage Anna drank too much and needed her stomach pumped; a memory of a colleague’s drunken laughter over our ‘friendship’ one Christmas. But that’s what it was and always has been: a deep, loving friendship. He’s what I would have in a girlfriend, except he’s a guy. I’m what he would have in a guy-friend, what he has with his real guy-friends. It’s simple, uncomplicated, and works for us.

And right now he looks tired. Dark shadows circle his green eyes, both of which follow the only sound in the room – Pug padding across the tiled floor, sniffing out new territory. Theo takes a seat at the circular kitchen table, kicks out a chair opposite him. ‘Sit. You’re here now, take your time. Let’s talk.’

I plonk myself down on the chair, one eye on the roaming dog. ‘You must miss her.’ It’s a statement more than a question and he shrugs.

‘I miss the woman I thought I knew,’ he says. ‘I miss her being around; having someone to share things with. I miss her being here for Finn.’

‘Doug left me when Anna was the same age. It’s tough for them. All they want is their mum and dad together.’

‘I knew the relationship had changed, but I thought it was just a phase and that we’d get back on track with time. I never thought …’ He hesitates. ‘I suppose whatever I thought about her leaving me, I never thought she’d walk away from Finn. Yet it’s the best thing she could have done for him – leave him here in his home, at his school, with his father. Out of the whole scenario, that’s both the best and shittiest thing she’s done.’ He laces his hands behind his neck. ‘Anyway …’

I bite my tongue. I haven’t been able to understand her being able to leave Finn either, but the facts are it happens, and no one – not a soul – questioned Doug leaving Anna in the same manner. If I’m honest, part of me admires Harriet’s strength to do it, and another part of me is beyond angry that she could willingly walk away from her child when I’ve probably had mine stolen from me.

‘I’m going to see my parents tomorrow.’ I change the subject, glancing at my watch. ‘Today, later this morning.’

‘You’re ready to see them?’ he asks, acknowledging the fact that I’ve managed to avoid visiting for more than ten weeks.

‘Leah and Gus are going for the day tomorrow. It’s a lot to do in one day, but they’ve talked me into going. They’re right. Mum is constantly phoning, tries her best, and she already has her hands full looking after Dad.’ I stop to draw breath. ‘Look, I just really wanted to say thank you for being there for me and to let you know I’m here for you too.’

‘Don’t worry about me. You have enough on your mind.’

My eyes rest on old school drawings pinned to the notice board next to the fridge. Frayed and yellowing, Finn’s earliest artwork, they’re years old and they make me think of Rose and how much I’ve missed her. Since Anna’s accident, I have had Rose to look after pretty much full time, apart from the days that Sean has had her for odd weekends. Having her fill my life helps me avoid thinking. Thinking about Anna, wondering where she is; wondering if I will ever have the closure of burying her; wondering if someday she’ll phone me from a bar in Brazil and explain that she’s alive and kicking – that becoming a mother at nineteen was just too much for her and that she just had to get away.

‘I should go,’ I say. ‘It’s late, sorry for the midnight call.’ I bend down and pick Pug up. Theo stands and we walk to the door together. ‘Just tell me one thing.’ I narrow my eyes under the hallway light. ‘Are you all right?’

He laughs. ‘I’m not sure what’s brought this on, but I’m fine. Really.’

‘Your wife of twelve years left you. I remember the hole that leaves. I’m sorry it took me a while to say that.’ I attempt a weak smile, kiss his cheek. ‘I choose to believe that Anna’s alive and it keeps my lungs working. You have to find your way forward too.’

Theo says nothing, just nods and hugs me before I leave.

As soon as I get home, enter my own kitchen, the first thing I see is the red light of the answer machine. I place Pug on the tatty sofa at the far end of the room, go back to the car and retrieve all the puppy paraphernalia that Leah had also bought. There’s a bed-like thing; I set it up in the warmest part of the room and transfer the dog to the centre of it. I press the red light and hear Doug’s low voice.

‘Jess, it’s me. It’s Saturday night. Can you give me a call when you get back, doesn’t matter what time it is?’

My stomach churns as I dial his number.

‘It’s me.’

‘Hi, I tried your mobile earlier but your phone kept ringing out.’

‘I was at Leah’s – it’s an awful signal there.’ My mobile service provider seems to be the only one with no mast in earshot of Leah’s.

‘Anyway—’

Pug starts to howl.

‘Is that a dog?’ Doug asks.

‘It is. Say hi to Pug.’

‘Right.’

‘Leah’s idea, not mine.’ Pug’s sound rises to a steep crescendo. ‘It’s late, Doug.’

‘Yes. I—’

‘Oh, for crying out loud, Doug, spit it out,’ I say, instantly thinking of Anna. I had spent a whole month after the accident hoping she was spitting her way to safety. Some Discovery Channel thing I’d seen once upon a time …

‘They’ve found a body,’ he replies. ‘It’s the boy, Lawrence.’

I say nothing. I can’t. His first words have made my stomach contract. His second sentence fills me with instant relief, then pain, and then Gus’s wonderful food threatens to reappear. Words will not form. Sounds will not sound.

‘Jess?’

‘I’m here.’ I force the syllables together.

‘I thought you should know. I was going to go over to France again but, I don’t know, Carol says there’s not much point, not if they’re sure.’

She’s right.

‘It’s so late. Maybe too late to digest this. Call me tomorrow?’ he says.

I look at the clock. It is tomorrow. ‘Do you sleep, Doug?’ Words I hadn’t expected to say, form themselves of their own accord.

‘Not really. Not well. Not any more,’ he replies.

‘Me neither. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll call you later.’

Just as I hang up the phone, Pug howls again. She crosses the room to my feet and I’d swear she’s crying.

Two hours later, the dog is still baying. I am sitting at my kitchen table with my head in my hands, cursing Leah. Anna and I seem to have a glass of vodka together, and as I pop another pill, I consider, just for a brief second, crushing one into Pug’s milk.

At 3.16, Pug is Valium-free and silent. I am talking to myself, aware in the blackness of the night that Anna is not really here and I am tonight, apart from this dog, very much alone.

5. Anna

Raw Honey Blogspot 10/10/2012

Once, Death thought he had me. I was there, firmly in his crosshairs. To this day, I think he came for me and just missed out. He’s probably still swearing, muttering to himself, ‘Nearly had her, that Anna Powers.’ I was ten when it happened, in town one Saturday afternoon with my best friend (BF) C and her mum, who had stopped to talk to someone about ten metres behind us.

I heard the sound before I saw it; knew without looking that it was out of control. When I turned, there was a small car, an odd shade of mustard yellow, heading straight for us. I remember my eyes closed as I waited, just knowing it was going to hit me. In reality it can only have been a split second between the hearing, the seeing, and the breeze on my face as it skimmed right by me. I felt it, I really did. If it had been a movie moment, it would have been slowed right down for effect.

A forty-two-year-old man with an unknown heart condition died behind the wheel. If he hadn’t managed to steer a route through the crowd, it doesn’t bear thinking about what might have happened. There were mothers and fathers and prams and babies and shopkeepers and there was BF. And there was me.

‘Carpe diem.’ My dad taught me that expression afterwards. Carpe diem. He used to repeat it a lot. ‘We have only today,’ Mama still says. ‘We should dance, learn, love and sing.’

I still can’t stand the colour yellow – in clothes, flowers, anything – but I do really try to live in the moment. And I still think Death was probably quite pissed off at missing me that day.

Comment: Heartsandkisses152

You were lucky and what a gift it is to grow up with the ideal of living in the moment. I think the world would be a better place if we could all do it, all the time.

Reply: Honey-girl

You’re right!

Comment: BlahBlahBlah1985

Carpe every single fucking diem!

Reply: Honey-girl

I like that

6. Theo

He was up hours before anyone else, had mopped the kitchen floor and made a picnic of sorts before there was a sound from Finn’s bedroom. Bea was, as always at the weekends, sleeping in. The food he had prepared was wrapped in foil and packed in a picnic box he’d found in the garage. A tall flask of coffee completed his efforts.

When Finn appeared, his laptop in his hand, Theo was standing on his head in the furthest corner of the kitchen.

‘Morning, son.’

‘You are so weird,’ Finn said through a stretched yawn. He removed a bowl from a cupboard and shook a box of cornflakes at it, poured half a pint of milk over it and went to take a place on the sofa in the den watching television. ‘Why do you even do that?’ he asked, glancing back over his shoulder.

‘Helps me think. Sometimes when things feel a bit upside down, it’s good to look at them this way.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘Don’t get too comfortable. We’re going out.’ Theo lowered his legs and tucked them to his chest before rolling onto his knees.

Finn groaned. ‘It’s Sunday.’

‘So it is. Lots of people are up and going to church. Lots of people are up walking their dogs. We’re going to the beach.’

His son rolled his eyes, then peered at him over the top of his raised bowl. ‘The beach. In February.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why? It’s freezing.’

‘Because we can. Now shift your butt up to the shower. We should go soon.’

‘I really don’t want to go to the beach, Dad.’

‘No, Finn, you think you don’t want to go to the beach. I can promise you when you get there, you’ll want to be there.’

‘You don’t need to do this, you know.’ Finn spoke with a mouthful of cornflakes.

‘Don’t speak when you’re eating.’

‘This father-son crap.’

‘Finn!’

‘Really, Dad? You say “crap” all the time … I don’t get this sudden … this sudden need to spend time together.’

Theo swallowed hard. ‘My wanting to spend time with you is hardly sudden. We always spend Sundays together. We used to—’

‘We used to do lots of things together when Mum was here, yes.’ Finn had walked away.

‘And what, we should stop that because she’s not?’ Theo stood at the door to the den and tried hard to keep his voice from rising.

‘Yes,’ his son nodded, and opened up his laptop to his world of Minecraft. ‘We should.’

Theo left the room, walked slowly upstairs to his bedroom. He pulled the bedclothes up, picked yesterday’s jeans off a nearby tub chair and hung them in the wardrobe. Next to them, a jumper of Harriet’s hung on a hanger. He tugged it towards him, lowered his face and inhaled her scent. It wasn’t perfume, but the body lotion she wore, and it lingered in all her clothes. Coconut and spiced orange. He dropped the sleeve and grabbed his coat from another hanger. Downstairs he took a hat and gloves from the coat rack near the hall door. ‘I’ll be back in a bit,’ he called into Finn and closed the front door behind him.

In between his and the next-door neighbour’s house was a path. Just wide enough for two people, it led into public woodland. Theo breathed in, blew his breath out in circles. It was cold. A thin dusting of icing-sugar-like frost lay on the ground. The only sounds around on a quiet Sunday morning were those of his heart beating and his shoe soles crunching underfoot. He shoved his gloved hands deep inside his pockets and quickened his pace. This area of green, the walking space, the rural feel of it, in what was otherwise a suburban area, only a few miles from Guildford town centre, was why he and Harriet had settled here. He pulled his phone from his pocket, removed one glove and, without thinking about it, jabbed his wife’s number with his thumb.

‘Theo, everything okay?’

He did love her voice; it was one of the first things he had fallen in love with. She was softly spoken, her expression gentle, a voice that wrapped you up in a blanket. It was something he had seen her use powerfully when in work, lulling her opposition into a false sense of security.

He put his glove back on, stopped walking, and held the phone to his ear.

‘Everything’s fine,’ he said.

‘You sound out of breath.’

‘Just out for a walk. Look, I called because … I have these papers.’ Theo looked skywards towards the slate-grey cloud cover through the canopy of trees. ‘I know you’re not coming back, Harriet. I think I just want to hear you say it.’

There was a silence which made Theo wonder if she was alone.

‘I’m not planning on coming back, Theo.’

His eyes blinked closed. He lowered his neck into his coat, shivered. ‘Right.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Me too. I didn’t fight for you.’ He listened to the sound of clothes rustling, imagined her getting out of bed, moving to another room in her new flat. ‘Separation documents. That’s what they are. They’re not divorce papers and I need to know if I should be moving on with my life. I’m in limbo. We’re in limbo here.’

‘It’s a separation, like we agreed.’

‘I know, but it’s not really, is it? You’re not coming back. It’s the first stage in the process.’

‘Are you all right, Theo?’ Harriet’s voice was edged with concern.

‘I will be,’ he replied honestly. ‘I just wish …’

‘No, no you don’t.’ She sighed loudly. ‘It’s hard, but you don’t wish – you don’t wish this was different. You don’t wish I was coming back. We are broken.’

The wind was high. He wiped his left eye, which had begun to water, with the back of his hand.

‘It’s the truth, Theo,’ she continued.

Theo bent down on his hunkers, clutched his knees with his free hand. The words of her last sentence entered his brain, rolled around like a spin cycle in a washing machine. Faced with them, he couldn’t deny them. ‘Would you mind coming and taking the rest of your clothes?’ he asked. ‘That body lotion of yours hangs around.’

She was silent.

‘Harriet?’ He stood up again, stretched tall. ‘You there?’

‘I’m here. I’m sorry, I could take them when I pick Finn up Friday?’

‘No. Don’t do that. Finn going to yours for the first time with a boot full of your clothes wouldn’t be a good idea.’

‘You’re right. Sorry.’

Theo turned back towards the house. ‘Stop apologizing, Harriet. If we really are both to move on, we have to find the best way forward for him. I’m not sure we’ve figured that out yet.’

‘No, but it’ll come. We have to stick together where he’s concerned.’

He nodded to a dog walker coming towards him.

‘Are you in the woods?’ Harriet asked.

‘Yeah.’

‘I miss them.’

Theo laughed. ‘I’m trying not to resent that remark.’

‘I miss you too. Of course I do. I’m not in love with you any more, Theo, but I will always love you.’

He felt sure he’d heard that line before – some movie or television drama; perhaps a song.

‘I miss my son. I miss seeing Finn.’ Harriet’s voice faltered. ‘Every day I have to convince myself that leaving him with you was the right thing if I had to go.’

‘I think …’ Theo ignored her underlying question. The last thing he needed was for her to fight him for Finn. ‘I think I just needed to know you’re sure. Because you need to be, Harriet. Once these papers go back, once I put them in the post …’

‘I’m sure. I struggle with it, but I’m sure.’

Theo reached the path, stood aside to let the figure he could see coming in his direction pass.

‘Okay, then.’ With those two words, he felt his wife slip away; he felt her slip into the arms of another man he barely knew. He felt himself loosen his grip and let go. ‘We’ll see you Friday, Harriet. Take care of yourself.’

Theo hung up the phone and stood still, the person on the pathway now only twenty feet from him.

‘I thought you’d be in here,’ Finn said.

‘And what if I hadn’t been? Did you tell Bea where you’d gone?’

They both walked towards the house.

‘Of course I did. Besides, I knew you’d be in here. This is where you always sulk.’

Theo faced his son. ‘I do not sulk.’

‘You do. A little bit. The beach is a good idea on one condition.’

Theo raised his eyebrows, not much in the mood for more conditions being placed on his life. ‘And what’s that?’ he asked anyway.

‘We ditch the ham sandwiches and have fish and chips instead.’ Finn shivered on cue. ‘It’s too cold for sandwiches.’

‘We’ll take them and have them in the car on the way down or back. We’ll have fish and chips when we’re there.’