Question of Truth

"Time is precious, but truth is more precious than time"

I woke up shivering in the cold morning air and tucked the blanket
closer around me. Of course Peter had pulled it over to his side during
the night again. I had left the window open last night, only a little
bit, just enough to let some air in, but it was a mistake I now came to
regret. The room was freezing, and the thought of having to get out of
my warm, cozy bed did nothing to improve my mood. I hit the snooze
button on my alarm clock to get another few minutes' sleep, but I was
too cold. I snuggled up to Peter.

He grunted something and put his arm around me. "You snored terribly
again last night," I complained.

"Sorry," he mumbled and kissed my neck. This might improve my mood, I
thought, and got a bit closer, but Peter had already gone back to
sleep. I growled. This was not a good start to the day. A minute later
my alarm went off again, and if I didn't want to be late for work I
really had to get up. I wrapped the blanket around me as I got up, the
way they so elegantly did in the movies, only that I got all tangled up
and nearly fell over. This time Peter growled.

"Serves you right for pulling the blanket off me," I mumbled, trying
to keep my balance. I hopped over to the window to close it, then over
to the radiator. This was silly, so I tossed the blanket back onto the
bed and over Peter, and grabbed my bathrobe instead. While I put it on
I tried to decide if it was going to be a hot, sweet cup of coffee, or
a hot, steamy shower first. Coffee, of course, start the caffeine
intake early, I could always take the cup into the shower with
me.

As I waited for the kettle to boil, I looked out into the garden. It
was winter so the garden looked suitably bare. I had taken all those
plants that would not live through the winter out some weeks ago. The
grass and the remaining shrubs were covered in a fine coat of frost,
looking almost like they needed dusting. A squirrel was making its way
across the grass, leaving a trail of little footprints behind. I poured
my coffee and stood a moment longer, watching the squirrel and warming
my cold hands on the cup.

When I got back upstairs, Peter had already left. I hated it when he
crept out of the house without telling me. What if something happened
to either of us during the day, how awful would the other one feel if
we hadn't even kissed good-bye and told each other to take care and
have a nice day? He was my husband of 17 years, and every morning he
sneaked away like we were having a one-night-stand. Sometimes he made
me so furious.

Peter made up for it when I got home in the evening. He was always in
before me and cooked dinner, laid the table and even did the washing up
afterwards. Sometimes I was sure I didn't deserve him. As soon as I
walked through the door I could smell another lovely dinner he had
prepared. He greeted me with a kiss, and presented me with a single red
rose. 17 years, and he is still the romantic he was on the day we got
married.

He insisted that I put my feet up while he cleared up. Somehow I must
have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, it was 3 o'clock in
the morning, the lights were off and Peter had put a blanket over me to
keep me warm. Unsteadily I walked upstairs to go to bed. Peter wasn't
there, but that did not worry me unduly. The door to the guestroom was
closed. He was always very considerate, and because I had complained
about his snoring he had decided to sleep in the other room. Little did
he know that I could put up with his snoring, I just wanted to know
that he was next to me, maybe snuggle up to him a little when I got
cold. I felt so lonely that I cried myself to sleep and decided never
to complain again.

The next morning Peter had gone by the time I got up. He hadn't come
in to kiss me good-bye, he had not even bothered to leave me a note. I
was beginning to wonder if something was wrong. Did he have problems at
work? Was he - God forbid - seeing another woman? I scolded myself for
being so silly. We had been married for 17 years. He loved me, of
course he would never leave me. However the tiniest bit of a doubt
remained.

I decided to ask him. He had cooked another superb meal for me, it was
delicious, a pleasure to eat. I was so lucky to have him. Still the
question needed to be asked. "Is everything all right, love?" I
casually asked between two mouthfuls, trying not to sound
concerned.

"Of course everything is all right," he replied. "Why are you
asking?"

I chewed carefully. "You seem to be a bit off lately," I said
eventually. Peter laughed. He had a wonderful laugh, deep and warm. It
was his laugh I had first fallen in love with all those years
ago.

"Silly," he said. "I'm just very busy at work, that's all."

I did feel a little silly. "You would tell me if you had a problem,
wouldn't you?" I asked, more to reassure him that I would always be
there if he needed me.

He reached over the table and took my hand. "Of course, my love," he
said. I knew he was sincere and relaxed. We had been married for 17
years. Nothing could come between us.

I forgave him for not kissing me good-bye the next morning. He just
wasn't a morning person. He had left a heart shaped chocolate on the
bedside table for me, how could I be cross with him?

At lunchtime I decided to ring him. I had wrapped the chocolate in a
tissue and taken it with me and was looking at it while I dialed
Peter's number and asked to speak to him. The clerk who answered the
telephone did not know him. I smiled. He was obviously new. "Carol?
It's Raj," I heard the familiar voice of Peter's colleague. He sounded
uncomfortable, and immediately alarm bells started ringing again.
"Peter isn't here," he said.

"Is he in a meeting?" I asked. "He said he was very busy at the
moment."

"Umm, yes, in a meeting," Raj said.

I knew he was lying. What was he covering? Where was Peter? I spent
the rest of the afternoon worrying about it. "His colleague probably
just didn't know where he was and didn't want to look silly," my
assistant Jean said. I saw the other girls wave to her and she got up
to talk to them. They were gone a long time. When she got back she was
pale. What had they said to her? Did they know something about Peter? I
tried to get an answer from her, but she wouldn't tell me. What on
earth was going on? I was more concerned than ever.

By 4 o'clock I couldn't stand it any longer. My colleagues exchanged
worried glances as I aimlessly flung some things into my briefcase and
hurried to the lift. My boss called me back. "Take a few days off,
Carol," he said. "Just stay at home and rest, put your feet up, don't
worry about a thing." To my utter dismay I burst into tears. He did not
seem at all surprised and opened the door to his office, waving for me
to sit down as he passed me a box of tissues.

"I don't know what's going on with my husband," I sobbed. It was so
unlike me to lose my composure like that. My boss shifted uncomfortably
in his seat. "Please tell me what you know," I begged him. "Something
is wrong with Peter, and everybody seems to know what it is except me.
I telephoned his work and his colleagues were lying to me. Everybody
here is hiding something from me. Please tell me what it is. Has Peter
lost his job? Is he having an affair? What is it?"

He took a deep breath and I dug my nails into the armrests of the
chair, expecting the worst. Expecting something bad, anyway. Nothing
had prepared me for this.

"Carol - Peter is dead."

I shook my head. "No," I said firmly. This was ludicrous. Of course he
wasn't dead. A scene like from a film flashed before my eyes. Someone
in a hospital bed. Tubes, bleeping machines. "He is in a meeting," I
said.

My boss covered his eyes with his hand for a moment. I hated it when
he did that. "Peter died three years ago in a car crash," he said
quietly. "He had been on his way home when his car spun off the road.
You were at the hospital by his side when he died." Bleeping machines.
One long bleep that lasted a lifetime. Nurses and doctors rushing to
the bed, separating our hands. Separating me from my husband of 14
years.

"No," I said. I hadn't been home when the hospital phoned. I had gone
out that day, meeting my lover in a hotel while the man I loved was
dying in an anonymous hospital bed. When I got there, it had been too
late. I never got to tell him how much I loved him. I had never even
kissed him good-bye that morning. I had always wished him a nice day,
always. Not that morning.

"He is in a meeting," I whispered, but I couldn't even convince
myself.

My boss put his hand on my shoulder. "I'll call you a taxi to take you
home," he said. I nodded. Peter had been dead for three years but I
remembered the day like it had been yesterday.

The taxi took me home. When I got there the house was empty. I was
earlier than usual, for once I had beaten Peter home. I smiled at the
thought of his face when he got home to find I had prepared dinner for
him for a change. On the dining room table lay a single red rose.