This is a Love Story (44 page)

‘He’s dead, isn’t he, Nick?’

I took a breath and turned off the engine. ‘Yes, Si. He is. I’m so sorry.’

She just nodded and opened the door. Something odd had swept over me. My tears had dried and the hysteria had vanished. I had to be there for her and I couldn’t do that while I was falling to pieces. I had to be strong. So somehow I was.

That night she slept in my bed with me. She refused to eat and crawled into my bed fully clothed. She was too tired to put on her pyjamas, so we just turned out the light and lay there. Her breathing was totally normal now as she soaked it all in. I didn’t want to confuse her with words so I stayed quiet, pulling myself under her body and wrapping my arms around her again, holding on to her tightly. Sorrow. Stillness. Frustration.

Eventually she fell asleep. I didn’t. I stayed wide awake, like an owl. There for her. I made a vow. I was going to be there for her for the rest of our lives, if only she would let me.

Sienna

Grief. I don’t know how to describe it other than as a rollercoaster that drops you into the pit of hell with the rats and the demons, and then lifts you up above the clouds to the place where heaven begins.

When I was down, I wondered if I would ever dig myself out; and when I was up, I waited by the gates, calling out my father’s name in the vain hope he would answer me. I like to think of myself as a positive person, and I think it was this that got me through it.

And Nick, of course. I spent a fortnight at his house, filling every room with the stench of my loss. I felt dirty no matter how much I washed. I felt tired no matter how much I slept. And I slept a lot. The first night I slept beside him fully clothed, but after that I stayed in his spare room, apart from during the day when Nick was out and I would creep into his room just so I could be close to him in some way. While Nick worked I tangled myself in his sheets. The only comfort in this world was the smell of him all around me. I pushed his pillow into my face and took in its warmth, and it was just like he was with me, holding me close. Because really, that was the only time I ever felt calm, when I could imagine he had his body wrapped around mine.

My skin was pale and there were red streaks under my eyes as if someone had painted them on in some strange African ritual. My hair hung limply from my head, greasy and straggly. Sometimes Nick got back from work and we didn’t even speak because I’d gone back to the spare room and slept the whole way through the evening. He would come and check on me as I snoozed, and all I could utter was a grunt before pulling the duvet over my head.

Sometimes I wanted to do weird things like play board games and watch
Friends
repeats until four in the morning because it was the only way to lessen the pain. And it
was
pain. A pain I’d forgotten about, which brought all the memories of my mother’s departure straight back to me. Now I had no parents at all. Pain like this physically ached. It was a different feeling, more poignant and tangible than anything I’d ever experienced. In the course of fourteen days I felt angry, sad, confused, even hysterical at times.

But despite all the hurt, creeping in amongst it was a kind of happiness, like soft velvet. Strange happiness. Joy because I’d been lucky enough to know my dad for all the time I had, twenty-five beautiful years. Sure, it had been hard – I’d cared for him for nearly fifteen years of that time, but they’d all still been moments I would treasure for the rest of my life. Twenty-five years. Some people don’t even get that long . . . Things had been hard – sometimes more than that – and at times I’d wondered how we would make it, but somehow we did.

Even though he’d been so cruelly taken away from me, it was difficult to remember him without a smile. Without this warm feeling that infiltrated the pain and pushed it away, even if it was just for a few minutes at a time.

Nick stayed off work for the first two days because he was frightened to leave me. I told him that he had to go back before my misery infected him too. He called me all the time, though, and the phone calls, if answered, went a little like this:

‘Si, how are you doing?’

‘Fine, Nick.’

‘Look, you don’t sound fine – I’m going to come home, all right? Give me twenty minutes.’

‘No, please. Just stay at work. I promise I’ll be fine.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

There were at least four of these exchanges a day.

Friends came to the door; sometimes I answered, sometimes I didn’t. On the first day, Elouise arrived alone. Nick let her in. I hadn’t realised she was coming. I was barely paying attention as I sat in the kitchen trying to eat some toast. When I say
trying
to eat, I really mean that. It was like attempting to swallow sandpaper with jam on it.

‘Si?’ she said, with tears in her eyes as she stood at the door. I didn’t have any tears left. She was wearing a white T-shirt with some boy-fit jeans and a pair of ballet pumps. She looked lovely. I looked up from my toast and felt so glad she was there, but I was too scared to speak. I didn’t know what would come out. She walked towards me slowly and I stood up almost on ceremony, unsure about what to do with my arms. I didn’t know what to do, or what to say. She just cuddled me. Held on to me tight for what seemed like an age. When she eventually pulled herself away and looked at me, black lines of mascara were smeared down her face like an oil spill. Her eyes were red.

‘I’m sorry, Si, I shouldn’t be the one crying,’ she apologised, sniffing hard while pulling out a wooden chair for herself. Nick stood in the doorway and watched for a while before making us tea and then slinking off upstairs. The steam rose from the mugs and I wrapped my hands around mine, needing more warmth.

‘What am I going to do, El?’ I said, starting to feel my chin go again.

She grabbed hold of my hand across the table and held it tight. ‘You’re going to be OK, you know. I bloody love you, Sienna – I’m like family, you know. I’ll always be here for you, and so will Nick.’

I felt the tears well again just when I thought they’d finally dried out. Surely it wasn’t humanly possible to cry this much? I looked down at the knots in the wooden table and started to trace my finger around them. They felt smooth. My head was heavy and I wanted to put my face against the cool surface, but that would have been a bit strange.

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ she asked.

To help. All I wanted was my father back. Even if he was asleep. I just wanted to watch him snoozing like I used to. To make him dinner, listening to his ramblings about whatever world topic it was he was studying, read to him. I wish I’d been there to catch him when he fell. If I’d just come home earlier . . .

I’d been dreaming about it, dreams that made me sweat and tremble. Night terrors. In my dreams, Ant told me I could leave early. I got home and Dad and I were both standing in the kitchen together, laughing and joking as usual. Then, when he fell, I spotted it and tried to catch him, cupping my arms under his back. But he was too heavy for me, I wasn’t strong enough, and he hit the floor and disappeared. I started looking for him, on my hands and knees, grabbing at the floor to try and find him. But he was gone. I’d woken up twice now, scrabbling at the mattress, looking for my father.

What could Elouise do apart from stay in my life? She couldn’t bring him back.

But I hoped she would never disappear like he had. Never be taken away from me. But there were no guarantees any more. Life was fragile, temporary. It scared me.

‘Can we have a Disney night?’ I asked.

She laughed a little before realising I was serious. ‘Well, yes, of course we can. I’ll come over with wine and takeaway and we can watch Disney all night if you like.’ She brushed her fringe from her blotchy face and smiled.

‘Yes please,’ I said.

‘How about tomorrow?’ she asked.

So that’s what we did. Nick, Elouise and I. We sat together on the sofa, Elouise to my left, Nick to my right. We watched
Lady and the Tramp
,
The Little Mermaid
and
The Lion King
all in one sitting. And we drank wine like it flowed from the kitchen taps. I’m not sure why I asked for Disney, but something about it was so comforting at the time. It made the world seem better. Sometimes I didn’t even have the energy to open the door to my friends.

We ran out of milk one day and I tried to go to the shop, but I felt so overwhelmed by the fresh air and the loudness of it all I couldn’t cope, so I came back inside. It was a fortnight that felt like a month, maybe a year. A jumble of almost callous and torturous timelessness where three in the morning might as well have been lunchtime.

On the fourth night it really caught up with me. I’d finally drifted off when the nightmare struck and woke me up within a few minutes. I was so disturbed it made me tremble. Nick was sleeping soundly in his room; I could hear his breathing from across the hallway. I tried to focus on that, but it wasn’t helping the pressure in my chest that was getting tighter and tighter. Rather than lying there and trying to calm myself down, I woke him. I just couldn’t get through the night without him.

‘Nick, Nick,’ I whispered as I prodded his arm gently. I felt like a lunatic.

‘Eh?’ he said sleepily as he woke up, rubbing his fists in his eyes. ‘Si, what’s wrong?’ There was panic in his voice.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ I mumbled as I began to cry again, sitting on the side of his bed and feeling like a fool. ‘I just can’t cope. I don’t know how I’m ever going to get through this,’ I choked, pulling my vest down over my knees to protect myself from the humiliation of this moment.

He sat up and pulled me towards him by wrapping his arms around my waist. I felt light as a feather. He started stroking my hair. That was all I needed. Almost straight away I felt the anxiety rushing away from me.

‘I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t wake you,’ I said, trying to see the alarm clock through the murk of his room. It was 3 a.m. I could feel him, his body perfect under a soft, crinkled T-shirt. I was so embarrassed, but totally unable to get through the night without him.

‘Shh, Sienna, never apologise. You know that I’d do anything for you,’ he said in his deep voice.

I held on to him even tighter now. I thought about how much I loved him. How deep it ran. How it was more than the heady lust I’d often experienced – something much more powerful. Deeper than the pain I was feeling, and the lake of tears I’d cried. I immersed myself in his love. It was healing me . . . I realised I was now lying down next to him and he had both his arms around me. I was stroking the hair on his right forearm.

‘Sienna,’ he said, just as I was finally drifting off in my state of emotional exhaustion.

‘Yes.’

‘You know I’m never going to leave you, don’t you?’

There was quiet. ‘What do you mean, Nick?’

‘I just . . . er, I’ll always be a part of your life, in whatever way. I’m never going to just go,’ he said in a whisper.

But how did he know? How could anyone promise that? I said nothing and drifted into sleep.

Somehow, by the end of a fortnight I was feeling a lot better. These things take a long time to heal – years, in fact – and I know that even when I’m an old lady, I’ll look back on these days and feel something tremendous wash over me, although I don’t know what it is yet. But slowly I came round. I started cleaning the house when Nick was at work. I had to pull myself out of this misery. It made me feel better. I scrubbed taps, vacuumed the floor to within an inch of its life, I even dusted the ceilings.

And I started making elaborate meals for him, involving exotic spices and giant prawns, things I’d never tried before. I was finally able to venture outside and I started going to Borough Market where I could buy all manner of exciting ingredients. I smelled them, I touched them, taking in all the textures and colours. I had to be strong, and somehow I found some kind of solace in this crazy marketplace with all its bustle and vibrancy. There was something new and exciting there. The stallholders measured things and sliced them and poured them into little boxes and wrapped them in paper. I loved it.

On Friday afternoon, the door went again. Nick wasn’t in. I saw a tall male figure through the frosted glass but I didn’t know who on earth it could be. I slid the chain over and opened it partially, just to be sure.

It was Pete. I’d had no idea he knew where to find me or why I was there. In fact, I’d assumed he would never want to see me again. He looked so much better – it was a shock, actually, but in a good way. I couldn’t understand this. It was so confusing. I thought he hated me since I’d brought Laura to the park and it had all gone so wrong. I hadn’t seen him or heard from him since . . .

As I peered through the gap I could immediately see he’d put on some weight, and he was even wearing a shirt. His skin looked good. Wow. He had a big bunch of yellow flowers in his hands, the colour so bright it made me squint. I slid the chain back and opened the door.

‘Come here,’ he said, cuddling me before I even had the chance to speak. There was something about his hug that told me he was sorry and scared all at the same time. Scared about how
I
would react, this time. To be honest, I didn’t have the energy for wild reactions. And I’d missed him too . . . I was so glad to see him. Despite this, though, something about his past made it even harder to be around him. His grief had been so destructive and so profound that it had taken him to hell and back. That worried me.

We sat in the living room.

‘Sienna, I’m so sorry,’ he began, putting his face between his hands.

‘Oh, don’t worry, that was ages ago now, Pete . . .’ I replied, feeling a little overwhelmed by all this.

‘No, no. Not just about all that. About your dad,’ he said, with a look of deep regret in his eyes. ‘I had no idea he was ill. I didn’t know anything, Sienna, and I spoke to you so badly. I was so rude to you.’ He was leaning towards me now, his body language full of remorse.

‘How did you find out?’ I asked.