Later it was put down as a cruel hoax, thought by most as a purposeful act of painful deception, the final twist of the knife. But she never meant to leave that radio on. To let the gentle sound of angelic voices echo through that empty catacomb of a house creating the illusion that somewhere there was somebody. No she had never meant it nor the devastation it caused.
She had merely turned it on for company, twisting the dial to find soothing music, anything that would fill the air and her mind. She had found the classical music station and turned the volume to high. She had let the melody fill her sense as her tears fell unhindered, her body weeping over the heart ache she could not yet feel.
She took her clothes from the shelves, neatly folding them into the large black suitcases lying across the patchwork quilt they pulled over the bed every morning together. It had been a gift from his mother when they had first moved into together. She remembered putting her things in place believing that they would be forever woven together with his. Their books, albums, pictures and underwear stitched together forever like the squares of fabric making something beautiful and complete.
And everything had become woven into one set of belongings. As she looked around their bedroom she could not tell what was hers and what was his. It was all theirs and that was why she took only her clothes. They were all that was hers alone anymore, the only definitive part of herself she could remove from the house.
As she folded and the violins swirled around the cello in the air above her head she tried to push aside the words. Poison words, so softly spoken, so innocently strung together, yet so deadly in their combination. Once they had been spoken aloud there was no other action but to leave. Those words were a death sentence. She tired not to think of them or what they meant or how they were released.
She focused on the music as she collected her undergarments, leaving the lingerie he loved so much. All the silks and satins and lace piled together in the pinewood drawer looked so pretty with out the cotton to diminish there beauty. Each finely crafted ensemble chosen by him to fit her body perfectly, to celebrate the loveliness he saw in her. She reached a hand out to touch the fabric, her fingertips grazing the smooth liquid finish of silk before those words floated into her mind. She slammed the drawer and began to zip up the suitcases.
She went to the bathroom and looked around. Her perfume and makeup, his aftershave and razor, their tooth brushes resting against one another in the pale blue ceramic cup. In there she could smell him. She felt the familiar ache in her bones, the tension in her skin the physical need of his touch. How would she live with out him? She sat down on the edge of the bath as a sob ripped through her body.
She had lived without him before but even before she met him she had missed him. His first kiss had been the very first time she had felt truly alive. The first time she fell asleep in is arms was the first time she felt contented. He was home to her. She closed her eyes and felt her heart collapse. She didn’t want to go but what choice did she have.
She had always believed they loved each other with equal measures. That they shared a mutual devotion. When she tethered herself to him it was meant to be forever, their beings intertwined for all eternity. In fact if she had not been utterly convinced of this she would never have let him into her life.
What a fool she had been. She had taken his lies for truth and let him use her. Those words showed everything they shared to be false. She could no more live in blissful ignorance of the truth. She had to face up to the terrible fact that to him she was just another woman.
“Hi!” the girl had said shyly as she’d answered the door. The person on her doorstep was no older that 10, short and neat with wide green eyes. She would not have been surprised to see wings sprouting from beneath the pale green sweater of that girl.
“Hello?” she had let her own head fall to the side in a question as she looked at the girl.
“I was looking for ammm...” those large green eyes dropped to a piece of paper clutched between her delicate fingers, “Mr Adam McKenzie…”
“That’s my husband.” She had found herself smiling, and the child smiled back.
“Oh great…he’s my dad!” The girl had beamed up at her, “I’ve been looking everywhere for him. Is he in?”
“You dad?” she had felt the lightness coming over her then as she bent to face the child, “how old are you?”
“8.” She smiled, “My name is Amy McKenzie, my Mum named me after him.” She kept smiling as she talked cheerfully, “She’s called Rachael Henderson, Do you know her?”
“Ahh…yes. Yes I remember Rachael.” And she had remembered the woman. She had lived next door to Adam when they had met. In fact Rachael had lived next door to him until he had moved in with her.
“Mum doesn’t know I’m here.” The child leaned in, as she found herself gripping to the wall in an effort not to faint. “She said Daddy can’t be with us but that he gives money cause he loves me. I found his address in her secret place. I just wanted to see him one time and tell him I don’t mind him not being with mum but that I’d like to see him instead of getting money.”
“Sweet heart, he isn’t here just now.” She had patted the girl’s soft red hair and looked at her intently. She could see Adam in that little person. Then she had brought the child inside and made her some juice.
She had let the little girl write down her address and phone number and a message for her father in neat rehearsed script. Then she had called a cab and dropped the child back at the house she said was hers. Inside she had looked at Rachael and not asked the questions she wanted to. Rachael had looked at her defiantly and then half smiled.
“I wasn’t the first and I doubt I was the last!” that was all, that ginger haired vixen had said before she closed the door.
The cab was still waiting outside the house as she left the bathroom leaving behind all but her tooth and hair brushes. She pulled the bags down the stairs and let the man carry them out to his car. Then she stood and removed her rings leaving them on top of his daughters note. She shut the door and mentally said a firm finally good bye before she climbed into the car.
She didn’t know that the radio was still on and that Rachael Henderson was not a woman to be trusted. Adam had lived beside her for two years when he found the love of his life. Rachael had adored him, more than that she had worshipped him. Like many foolish men Adam hadn’t realised. He had treated her as a friend and once or twice in the early years of being neighbours they had spent the night together. Never once had he suspected how she felt for him or reciprocated, even for a moment, her feelings of love.
When Adam first brought Helen home, Rachael had sneered and told herself that she was the only lasting woman in his life and soon he would realise that. But as the months rolled by and Helen became a fixture in his life Rachael’s love hardened and became bitter. Adam would talk of nothing but the perfect Helen, his soul mate his one true love. His angst over how he would ever persuade the cynical commitment phobic to be with him forever was poured out onto Rachael with out a thought for how she must feel.
Rachael disliked Helen form the first time the pair had ever spoken. As time went on and she refused to commit to Adam, as she messed him around the dislike hardened to detest. And when She finally consented to marry him, her detest was cemented into hatred.
Rachael made one last attempt to bring Adam back to her. She invited him round for some beers and told him how she felt about him in the hopes that it would bring him to his sense. But Adam only hugged her, telling her how wonderful she was and how someday she would find somebody who deserved her love. She pleaded with him, begging him to at least try and love her. But he remained firm, he loved Helen and Helen alone.
Rachael had waited a long time to enact her revenge on Adam and Helen. So when Helen brought home her daughter she simply grasped the moment to stick the knife in. She had no idea that her words and that of her daughter would lead to the actions took by Helen. She had merely hoped to put the cat among the pigeons so to speak and to see Adam’s face one more time. She sat sipping coffee wondering if she would still have the same old feeling as Helen packed.
And Adam he was sweating and laughing as his life broke apart. He was aiming the heavy orange ball at a hoop and missing as his beloved left their home forever. Nobody could ever understand why she didn’t wait to hear him out, but Adam did. He understood Helen, he understood that she was not built to withstand the breaking of her heart or their union. He understood that by running away and never hearing details she could defend against it. Helen would block as much of it out as possible, tell herself that it wasn’t love for either of them. That it was an inevitability of life. Adam understood that as he sat in the dark drinking whiskey and longing for her in those long nights after she left.
Adam full of the joys of winning and adrenaline slapped the backs of his friends. He laughed and joked as they had lunch, not knowing that Helen was getting on a plane. He left his buddies boasting that his wife would be waiting for him. Indeed she always waited for him after his game on Saturday afternoons.
She would meet the girls for brunch and drive home to be there for when he got in. She would put on some satin or lace and let down her hair. He would come home, follow the sound of music to where she would be laying waiting to consort with him. A goddess waiting for her god. They spent Saturday afternoons celebrating each other.
Adam sang along with the radio, a happy man. Faithful to his wife in every way, half dreaming of the child they were hoping to have someday soon. Perhaps he knew then, half in his heart. Some link between them had brought children to his mind as he drove and he smiled to himself.
He pulled into the driveway that day trying to guess what she would wear for him, thinking how lucky he was. He opened the front door confused that he needed his key. He saw the ring and was about to go to look at it when he heard the music. The mere sound of it made him tighten. He closed his eyes and smiled, dropping his bag and removing his coat.
Where would she be today? Images of past encounters flashed in his mind, in the study on his desk, in the bathroom water all around them, in the kitchen, garden….his breath caught as his body began to ache and plead for her. His eyes needed the sight of her. He listened for the music and began to climb the stairs.
As he moved though their house, he noted how completely their lives had become weaved together. He stopped at the top of the stairs to removed his shoe’s and socks. Realising the music was coming from the bedroom, unaware of the pain that awaited him. Filled with thoughts of flesh and silk he made his way down the hall. Pausing outside the door, he rested his head against the wood imaging her on the other side prone and ready for him. His hand went to the handle as he called out to her that he was coming but when he opened the door nobody was there.