Life and Soul of the Party (23 page)

‘Auntie Mel!’ he screamed throwing his arms around my legs.

‘I wish everyone greeted me like that.’ I bent down and kissed the top of his head. ‘Hello, William.’

Vicky kneeled down to talk to him. ‘Sweetheart, can you do something for Mummy? I need you to look after Auntie Mel while Mummy and Daddy finish getting ready. Can you do that?’ He nodded. ‘Okay.’ Vicky looked up at me. ‘Just give me a shout if he’s too much trouble.’

‘We’ll be fine,’ I replied. ‘You go and do what you’ve got to do.’ Vicky took the two mugs of tea and left the room leaving me alone with William. I held out my hand. ‘Can I have a look at your dinosaur please?’ William offered it up to me without protest and I made a great show of examining it carefully. ‘It really is a lovely dinosaur. Is it new?’

‘It’s not lovely,’ he corrected. ‘It’s very angry.’ To illustrate the point he screwed up his face, curled his fingers and roared. I pretended to be terrified and cowered, pleading with the dinosaur not to eat me, which amused William greatly.

‘I’m not really a dinosaur. Auntie Mel. It’s just me: William. I was pretending.’

‘Oh, I can see that now. So what are you?’

William thought for a moment. ‘A boy.’

‘That’s good to know.’

William examined the horns on his dinosaur. ‘Do you know what these are?’

‘They’re pointy bits so the dinosaur can pick up his dinner.’

‘Like a fork?’

‘Like a fork.’

I reached down and gently stroked William’s hair.

‘Auntie Mel?’

‘Yes?’

‘Are you sad?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Mummy said you might be sad today.’

‘Yes, I am a bit sad today.’

‘Because of Uncle Paul.’

‘Yes, because of Uncle Paul.’

There was another silence.

‘Auntie Mel?’

‘Yes?’

‘Mummy says it’s okay to be sad sometimes.’

‘Does she?’ I spoke as brightly as I could.

William nodded. I thought I would break down in tears if he didn’t stop soon. ‘Mummy said that when sad things happen you’re allowed to be sad because it’s not good to keep it all in.’

‘No, it isn’t.’

William waved his dinosaur in my direction and roared. Grateful for the opportunity to scream rather than listen to a small child discuss techniques for coping with grief I threw myself into the role of a potential meal for the roaming dinosaur. I ran from the kitchen into the living room where William chased me round the coffee table. After several revolutions I finally allowed myself to be caught. William and his dinosaur began tickling me. Then out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a photo on the wall that I’d seen a million times before. It was a picture taken on New Year’s Day three years ago of the six of us: me, Vicky, Chris, Cooper, Laura and Paul all bunched together on the beach at Barafundle Bay in Pembrokeshire. We had been larking about and had asked a woman walking her dog whether she would take the picture. Cooper and Laura were on one side, Chris and Vicky were on the other. And in the middle were me and Paul. Everyone looked happy. Everyone was smiling. Everyone looked young and trouble free. And at the sight of all this lost happiness I became horribly aware of a rush of saliva into my mouth.

‘Auntie Mel’s got to go to the loo,’ I said. I made my way to the downstairs bathroom, locked the door behind me and promptly threw up into the sink.

I felt a bit weird as I rang Naomi’s front doorbell. Because of one thing and another we had only been out together a handful of times since Chris and Vicky’s anniversary dinner and yet here I was taking her to the funeral of one of my closest friends. It might be okay to go on your own to the pictures or for a walk in the park but it seemed weird to turn up at the funeral of one of your best friends alone, and as none of us had seen or heard from Laura since it had happened, almost by default Naomi became my number-one choice.

Despite the occasion, when Naomi answered the door dressed in a black sleeveless knee-length dress I couldn’t help but think how gorgeous she looked. She greeted me with a kiss and invited me in. I watched as she checked her hair and make-up in a heart-shaped mirror before grabbing a denim jacket from the hat stand just next to her.

‘Sorry about making you wait.’

‘No problem.’

Naomi bit her lip as if trying to make a decision. ‘So, how are you feeling?’

‘Okay,’ I replied. ‘Not brilliant. But okay. Does that make any sense?’

‘I know what you mean. The last funeral I went to was my granddad’s three years ago. I remember feeling really weird on the day because I didn’t feel as upset as I thought I ought to be. The funeral should have been this big focal point but for me it just wasn’t. Then seven months later on my birthday my gran called me and I completely broke down. You see, after I left home it was always my granddad’s job to call and wish me happy birthday on behalf of my grandparents. Whether I was up at Cardiff doing my degree, down in London in my first job, or even on holiday in Australia – Granddad always called to wish me happy birthday. I think Gran thought she was doing the right thing but it just wasn’t the same.’

I pulled Naomi closer and we held each other tightly for a few moments before loosening our embrace to kiss each other properly.

‘You know you really don’t have to come with me today.’

‘But I’d like to, if that’s still okay by you.’

‘Of course.’

‘You don’t think it’s too weird then?’

I managed a small laugh. ‘It’s not weird at all. I invited you. We’re friends. What else is there? Anyway, I’m sure if Paul were here he’d say it was a case of “the more the merrier”.’ Naomi seemed to relax a little. ‘We’d better go,’ I said looking at my watch. Despite everything that was going on, being with her made me feel happy because I wasn’t quite so alone any more.

Despite being annoyed with Vicky for trying to set me up with Naomi on the night of their anniversary party, out of politeness I had offered to share a cab back to Chorlton with her. For most of the journey we talked about Vicky but as we warmed to each other we began to share a bit more background about ourselves and despite the awkward start to the evening we were actually beginning to get on.

‘This might be a weird thing to say,’ I began as we pulled into her road, ‘but I’m really glad we got a taxi back together.’

‘Me too,’ she replied. ‘Although if I’m honest I thought you were more than a little bit frosty towards me earlier tonight.’

‘Yeah, sorry about that. That was nothing to do with you and everything to do with me being an idiot. Maybe you’ll let me take you out for a drink sometime to apologise.’

‘Yeah, I’d like that, unless . . . look, say no if you want to but you’re more than welcome to come in for a drink now if you like.’

I was seriously tempted but the more I thought about it the more sure I was that we’d both regret using the loneliness we both felt to justify falling into bed together.

‘I’d love to, but I can’t. I’m supposed to be up early in the morning to spend the day with my mum and step-dad. Maybe we should just exchange numbers and I’ll call you some time in the week?’

Even as the taxi pulled away I knew that I wouldn’t be calling her. Monday would come along and I’d look at her number sitting in my SIM card on my mobile phone and I could see myself deleting it rather than finding the courage to take a risk. Returning home from work on the Monday evening, however, I opened the front door to find a hand-delivered postcard from Vicky on the mat. On the front of the postcard was an old black and white photograph of a elderly couple sitting at opposite ends of a park bench and on the back Vicky had written a quotation that I later learned was from Tennessee Williams: ‘When so many are lonely it would be inexcusably selfish to be lonely alone.’ Leaving the rest of my post on the floor at my feet I called Naomi that instant and arranged a date for the very same evening.

It had been on the eve of our fourth date that I had received the call from Chris about Paul’s accident. I’d been at work, about to leave the office in order to go and meet a client, when my mobile rang. I half expected Chris to be calling on Vicky’s behalf to find out how things were going with Naomi. The news had stunned me. The abruptness of Paul’s death seemed to render words meaningless. I cancelled my meeting and made my way to Chris and Vicky’s. That seemed the natural place to be. With my friends. With my family. It was only once I was there that it occurred to me that someone needed to let Laura know what had happened. Chris and Vicky had offered but I felt the news would only seem right coming from me. I called her mobile and left a message for her to call. I emailed her saying the same. After a few days with no response Chris and Vicky tried to contact her but with no success. I began to worry but then Chris put forward so many plausible reasons why Laura might be out of reach that even though we agonised over how hurtful it would be to receive the news via the internet, I decided to detail everything that had happened in an email to her and wait for her to get back to me. But she never did.

Parking the car in one of the streets behind St Jude’s, Naomi and I walked hand-in-hand towards the church.

‘We should go away after all this,’ I said noticing the weather for the first time. The day was cold but dry and bright. I squeezed Naomi’s hand. In a short space of time she had proved herself indispensable. I could barely believe that I had got a second chance at happiness. ‘You know, just you and me, somewhere warm. Recharge our batteries.’

‘That would be lovely. We could both do with getting away for a while.’

As we got closer to the church I spotted Chris, Vicky and Melissa amongst the crowd and picked up my pace but before I reached them everyone turned as one to face the road. Following their line of sight it was easy to see why: a slow-moving procession of funeral cars was making its way towards the church.

I knew that if I looked up I would see a thousand pairs of eyes staring back at me. I knew that to everyone gathered here to say goodbye to Paul I was a lesson learned. A timely reminder of the cruel blows that life sometimes dealt – a reason never to take anything for granted. People had said as much to my face. Told me how what had happened had helped them to see the light. From now on they would change. They would love harder and stronger, vowing to make every second count. I knew they meant well, but the last thing I wanted to be considered was an example of a life lesson learned. I wasn’t a plot-line on a soap opera. I wasn’t the last few pages of a romance novel. This was my life. And I had lost the father of the baby that was growing inside me. I didn’t have the luxury of using this experience to help me in the future. It was happening to me now.

I had been over my memories of the last few weeks of Paul’s life a million times since his death. I had to do my best to preserve them permanently for both myself and the baby. Moments that at the time had seemed mundane were now amongst my most precious possessions. I couldn’t afford to leave their preservation to chance, so I took control as best I could. Those long hours I had spent in bed with the curtains drawn while my parents sat downstairs worrying weren’t about my resting for the baby’s sake, as the series of doctors who had poked and prodded had ordered, they were about rehearsing and memorising the last remnants of Paul’s life. Time that only we had shared. Moments that without my action would be forgotten forever. So, three days before the funeral on another sleepless night, I picked up a notepad and pen from beside the bed and began frantically recording every memory and feeling of Paul’s last few weeks alive.

Things had been good between us after Chris and Vicky’s anniversary dinner. His promise never to see Melissa again was a real turning point. It was the first time that Paul had jumped into our relationship with both feet. He seemed happier. As though he felt relief rather than regret at having made the decision which I had essentially pushed him into.

The weekend before he died we’d driven to Derbyshire and spent the Saturday and Sunday in a hotel on the outskirts of the Peak District. It was to have been our last get-away before we got down to the tricky business of becoming first-time parents. We had had the time of our lives. Making love, ordering room service, watching TV in each other’s arms and sleeping until late in the day. On the way home we had stopped off to see Kay and Dom, some old university friends of mine, and during lunch as Paul and Dom bonded over their mutual disdain for United, Kay and I had whispered to each other in the kitchen about the healthy state of our relationships. Kay even commented that Paul and I looked like we had been ‘in love forever’. I felt such joy at this observation that I almost told her about the fact that we’d got married but stopped myself at the last moment for fear of being disloyal to Paul.

Returning home in the early evening I had a bath to alleviate the deep ache in my back that had been troubling me for the past few days and then invited Paul to join me in an early night. He said he had work to do for the conference he was attending in the morning but even as I climbed into bed I heard him switch off the light in the living room and turn on the stereo. I remember smiling as I pictured him lying on the sofa in the near-darkness of the living room, hands behind his head, listening to some band or musician who had the power to ease his soul and transport him to a different plane. And I didn’t worry that he wasn’t with me. In fact I didn’t worry at all. For what felt like the first time in our relationship I relaxed, secure in the knowledge that he was as committed to me as I was to him.

Waking during the early hours in desperate need of the loo, I leaned across to Paul’s side of the bed to find that he wasn’t there and I found him fast asleep on the sofa, the hi-fi, programmed on repeat, playing a single song over and over again. Unwilling to rouse him I turned off the stereo, covered him with the throw that lived over the back of the sofa and returned to bed. The next I saw of him was in the morning when, showered, shaved and ready for work he had entered our bedroom, kissed me, and told me that he would call me later in the day to see how I was doing.