Moving on

The clouds gathered menacingly. The lightning cracked all around, showing everything in silhouette, just for a second before plunging the garden into darkness again. Then the rain pounded down on the dry earth, soaking it. The flower heads gathered water until they were so full they collapsed revealing their secrets to anyone who cared to look.

When it was over I sat in the dark listening to the slow, steady drip of water as the sorrow of the clouds abated. Their rhythmic sobs becoming more distantly spaced as their anger dispersed across the sky.

The ice chinked in the glass as I brought it to my lips, my drink tasting salty as it mingled with my tears.

It had been a night just like this. A day I remembered well, perhaps too well.

The suitcases had been at the bottom of the stairs when I arrived back from work. I almost tripped over them in my hurry to get out of the rain. Three of them, two blue, one green, not that it mattered. I had left the office early; he hadn’t expected me home then.

As I closed the door I heard a noise. It was John coming through from the kitchen, a note in his hand. I remember thinking, so he’s leaving then, sneaking out hoping to avoid recriminations.

Those last few months, before he left were tough. There hadn’t been a lot to smile about. It was as if we had been lurching from one disaster to another. I had felt like a punch bag, knocked down only to recover and be caught by another blow. I guess you can only live like that for so long before something breaks, permanently.

Then his dad died. I tried hard to support him. I felt I had done my best, despite my own feelings, but somehow he blamed me. Resented the fact that I was able to carry on, when he was floundering, his safe world crumbling around him.

There have been so many times when I thought he might come back. I looked for him everywhere at first, thinking he might be near by, hoping that he would want to keep me close.

Lizzie was married and we missed him then. She was the youngest and she felt the loss, perhaps more than the others. Then when Richard’s first baby was born I dared myself to hope a little that he might come back. But there was nothing. It was as though he had simply vanished.

One night after a party Lizzie, made brave by wine, said; ‘Mum you have to face it, he’s gone’. She gave it to me straight and it wasn’t easy for her to do. It certainly wasn’t easy for me to hear, but I loved her for it. It did finally give me the push to start enjoying things again without feeling guilty or disloyal. Then there had been painting classes and dancing and new friends and I felt such relief. I did anything to keep out of the house, to keep me from remembering.

It worked, I met Nick. That was what had finally convinced me. The sale board was up, now proudly displaying the word SOLD. The boxes were packed and tomorrow a new life. I would even be looking forward to it if not for that stupid letter! Why did it have to turn up, threatening to suffocate me again?

I held it now, scrunched up and tear stained in my hand. Anger so strong grew inside me so that I had to release it. I didn’t want to risk destroying the last link that I had. Ten years was a long time, but it was nothing compared to all that had gone before.

The silence was cut by the harsh tones of the telephone. I raised the receiver to my ear.

‘Hello?’

The line was silent for a second and then I heard a baby cry. It sounded so tiny and helpless. A woman’s voice whispered in the background, urging someone to speak.

‘Hello’ I repeated. ‘Are you alright?’

Then a faltering voice came over the line. It was that of someone unsure and almost apologetic. My hand went to my mouth, could it really be?

‘Mum? Is that you? It’s me John’.