It’s not hard to fall…

October 1 2009...

There’s still a little piece of my heart…

That gentle squeeze of his hand, that reassuring touch. The coffin lowers and a pale green curtain moves in front of it.
A cremation. What she wanted and how he almost howls that she left him.
Battling months of illness, remission that gave him a false hope and then…she’s gone. Taken like that and how he fell, how he cried, thinking that he was so tough, he somehow kidded himself that he was prepared. He was but not for her dying. His little voice telling him that it would all work out, it would all be okay and he and Janet would sit at the small breakfast table and laugh at this.
He hasn’t laughed. Not since.
Now, there’s a slight noise and he knows, that behind that curtain, it’s his wife and he wants her back, wants to have her talk, to laugh, to put her arms around him and his tears hit his hands, another pat on his back and he’s so close to falling, just so close…

He looks at the book of condolence. Sees her name. Janet Alice Douglas. Thirty four years old. He leans forward and softly kisses the page. There are other names, but none like hers and he wipes his eyes and backs away, he doesn’t turn from her.
Quietly sitting in the back of the car. Quietly looking out at the crematorium. Quietly waiting for Hugo to get him away from here.
Brewster sits next to him, he knows as well. A soft mournful sound from him and he doesn’t lift his head.
Sitting in the back of the car with his dog, all he wants is for this to stop.

The ghost of her is still here. In every room in the house. Softly closing the front door, it’s as if he can hear her calling his name, Neil…
Sitting at his desk, Brewster on the settee and he can hear her whisper, his hand shakes and he can’t do this, to sit here alone, how can he still hear her voice when she’s gone? Why can he still feel her?
If he takes a drink, will that make all this go away?
Will it make it hurt any less?
Neil takes his shoes off. Resting his elbows on his knees and looking at his feet.
A single tear rolls down his cheek, he knows that if Janet saw him like this, she’d tell him to stop and get up, this isn’t how he is or how he should be.
The first smile from Neil in weeks, can she see me? Can she see me smile?

With a touch of your grace…

The mantelpiece is lined with photo’s. Neil carefully wipes them, putting them back in exactly the same place, lining each up and at the end, a tall thin vase, two flowers, lily’s, her favourite flowers.
Neil closes his laptop. Slipping it into it’s case. A look at the photo’s and that’s it. He takes Brewster’s lead from the table and Brewster waits for him by the front door. Neil’s little smile, a little shake of his head.
A sports bag in one hand, Brewster’s lead in the other and his laptop case, Neil opens the door and he and Brewster walk away.
For a tiny moment, he thought she’d called out, saying goodbye, see you later.
An echo from a life before.
The door is closed.

Driving. Brewster in the back, his head bobbing up and down, a typical ’nodding’ dog movement.
Neil rests his elbow on the door, fingers touching his face, there’s a sound from the CD player, not loud enough for him to clearly hear it, just background noise.
Does he really know where he’s going?
He’d packed a bag, fed Brewster and here he is driving, but driving where?
A mental prod, he’s going to see Janet’s parents.
They blame him for what happened. They hadn’t actually said that, they didn’t have to. He knew what they were thinking. Even when they looked at him, he knew.
It hadn’t changed at her cremation, they kept their distance and he had kept his. What were they expecting him to do? Maybe he should have died instead and make the world so different.
The only person that had stood with him had been Hugo. His friend for so many years, a drinking partner, a dining partner, sampling food that Janet would cook up and always complimenting her, no matter how bad it was.
Neil starts crying again, driving and he can taste her lasagne, quite possibly, the best in the world, he and Hugo almost coming to blows over scraps and Janet offering to make more.
That’s what she was like, always like that, always more.
Neil adored Janet and he was never afraid to say it. Hugo admired him for it, he knew just how strong his love was for her.
Not was, but is. That’s still there, Neil can’t just let her go, that’s not him.

Motorway miles and a numb bum. Even Brewster is unsettled. The occasional whine from him and Neil watches for the signpost for services.
As he drives past, it reads ’three miles’.
Slowing down and ready for a break, Neil opens the window, a small enough gap, enough of a breeze and then checking the fuel gauge, he’d better fill up as well.
Leigh Delamere services on a Sunday morning, quiet and the sound of traffic from the M4 isn’t intrusive.
Neil clips Brewster’s lead on and they walk, Brewster naturally, wants to cock his leg or have a good sniff at all the lamp posts they come across. They’re out of the car and walking and Neil takes a deep breath and holds it and then almost coughing as he lets it go.
Stopping by the bushes where Brewster does something else, Neil looks around at the car park. Maybe no more than five cars, including his, a few trucks, in a separate area and Brewster looks up at him, as if he’s asking, ‘what are you waiting for?’ Neil takes him back to the car.
Into the services, Neil buys a few things, a rather nasty looking tuna salad, complete with useless plastic fork, a large bottle of still water, Benson and Hedges, a just as nasty looking cheese and egg mayonnaise sandwich and a bottle of sprite.
From there, Neil heads back to his car. Brewster is all excitement, Neil opens the tuna salad and Brewster’s ’no thank you’ sniff is another thing that makes Neil smile. He tips the salad in the bin, keeping hold of the container, that’s a handy drinking bowl, and he does help Neil with the sandwich and appearances aren’t deceptive, it isn’t that nice at all.
Stopping at the pumps and filling up. A few miles to go, on a quiet Sunday morning, Neil sits back in the car and looks at the empty seat.
He should stop doing that as well.

Turning off at junction 18 and heading north. Towards Yate. Here is where Janet’s parents live.
They don’t know he’s coming, but he wants to try and clear the air with them. Maybe want is too strong a word, like is a better way of putting it.
Maybe he should have phoned them to let them know he’s coming, feeling perhaps a little like Hitler, when he invaded Poland, “Oh sod it, lets just do it!”
Sometimes, you just have to go with it and Neil’s mood is suddenly a lot brighter.
Just a few miles and Neil can’t hide the smile on his face.
Brewster sits up and starts yowling at something, slobbering on the seat and flapping his ears and it’s like he knows what’s coming.
It won’t be as bad as that. It can’t be. Janet wouldn’t like it.

No car in the drive. Not a good sign and not a good start.
Brewster looks up at him with a, “Go on, tell me there’s no one home.” look about him.
Neil shrugs and says nothing. Perhaps he should leave a note. Perhaps he should just leave.
A long look at the bungalow, back in the car and Neil and Brewster drive away.
Back on the motorway and Neil asking if this has been nothing but a waste. It hasn’t because if nothing else, it’s got him out of the house, in the car, a drive away from London in the company of his Labrador, Brewster. A different kind of way to spend a Sunday morning, almost like the drives he and Janet would have, just get in the car, argue over who is driving, kiss and make up and just go somewhere. A little like now, but Neil isn’t in the frame of mind to start kissing his dog.
From somewhere, he can hear Janet laughing, the vision of him kissing Brewster, and she laughs.
Neil leans forward, turning the volume up on the CD player and London can be as far away as it wants…