Page 41 of Life After Me

‘How about you? You know who I am and what I do, so what about you?’ She fiddled with her drink and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, before flicking her eyes up to meet mine.

‘What about me?’

‘Well, when you’re not running women off the road, what do you do? What makes you tick?’ She seemed genuinely interested in the answers.

That’s when it hit me. Was she flirting with me? The idea seemed preposterous, but here was this attractive, apparently available woman laughing and chatting with me, and seemingly enjoying herself. And she wanted to know more about me. The thought was exhilarating. And terrifying.

I took a long gulp of my drink before answering. ‘First off, I don’t make a habit of running women off the road.’

‘Oh, so I’m just one of the lucky ones?’

I laughed nervously, not sure how to respond.

‘Well?’ Ruth prompted. ‘Who are you, David?’

‘I’m just me. Like I said, I’ve got two grown-up children. My son’s in Scotland and has just got engaged, and my daughter lives closer by — she’s just moved in with her boyfriend. I work in the drafting department for an architectural firm locally. Anything else?’

‘Yes. So far you’ve only told me about other people, and your job,’ Ruth complained. ‘What about you? What’s your favourite food? What do you do to relax? Who are you?’

‘OK. I like proper old-fashioned cooking, and I’d probably say my favourite meal is roast beef, but I’d happily eat chicken or lamb too.

I hate all this nouvelle cuisine, which seems to be an excuse for charging twice the amount for half the food.

Except I don’t tell most people that because it makes me sound grumpy and old-fashioned. ’

Ruth laughed. ‘And what about the relaxing?’

‘Well, this is always good.’ I gestured around the pub garden. ‘But I like to paint too.’

‘Walls or pictures?’

‘Pictures I guess, though I’ve painted a lot of walls in my time too.’

‘So what do you paint?’

‘Whatever takes my fancy. Usually landscapes and trees. Sunsets and the sky. Not very exciting or groundbreaking stuff, but I like it.’

‘Not everything has to be groundbreaking. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with finding what you like and sticking with it.’

‘So what about you?’

‘Me? Oh... hang on, I think I’m ringing.

’ She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a phone that was flashing and buzzing.

‘You’ll have to excuse me for a minute.’ She answered the phone as she stood and left the table.

She was back within a minute. ‘My story’s going to have to wait.

That was the garage. They’re done with my car for today.

They’ve spoken to the insurance company and need to order a new panel, but I can have it back for now. ’

‘Oh.’ Disappointment flooded me. ‘I guess we should get moving then.’ I downed the last couple of inches of my drink.

‘Yeah, we should.’ Ruth gathered up her bags, then paused and looked up at me. ‘But, we could do this again. Minus the crashing into me first.’

‘Really?’ I had to check, because I was convinced I’d misunderstood.

‘Why not? I’ve had fun, haven’t you?’

‘Yes.’ I smiled at her, surprised at myself. ‘Yes I have, thank you.’

* * *

Jenn

I’m still struggling to like Ruth, but it’s getting easier. She and David have been out together twice more this month since he gave her a lift. Once to the market again, and once to the cinema.

They’ve talked on the phone at least another three times.

It’s quite sweet really. I’ve actually caught David checking the clock again and again, waiting for it to be time to call her.

Last Friday when they spoke, Ruth curled up on her sofa with a glass of wine, and they talked for hours. About almost everything.

They talked for longer than either had expected to, and when Ruth started yawning, neither wanted to say goodbye to the other.

So instead of saying goodnight, they kept talking.

Ruth snuggled in her bed, and David kept talking to her, telling her about Lottie and Matty, and his job, and his painting.

He kept talking to her as her answers became quieter and less frequent, and her breathing deepened into sleep.

It’s hard to dislike anyone who makes my husband smile like that.

Ruth really is a nice person, but it’s not just that.

She makes David happy. When he’s with her, he smiles and laughs.

The happiness is genuine, not the mask he wears around so many other people.

He talks to her openly, and I’m glad he’s finally found someone who can understand what he’s going through.

The funny thing is, Ruth is turning out to be even better for David than I’d first thought. I hadn’t known about her husband when I found her. I’d just known that she was single, and thought that she was the type of person David would probably click with.

They do get on really well. I think that Ruth being widowed too might be part of the attraction and friendship between them.

They’ve found kindred spirits in each other.

It doesn’t upset Ruth when David talks about me, and David doesn’t recoil when Ruth talks about her husband and how he died.

The friendship is cathartic and healing for both of them.

However, David still hasn’t told her completely about me.

But I don’t blame him. For all that they’ve quickly become firm friends, they don’t really know each other all that well yet.

How do you tell someone who was a stranger a month ago that you believe your dead wife is still talking to you and taking part in your life?

Without ending up with a quick referral to the local psych ward, I mean.

It’s not exactly something you can slip easily into everyday conversation.

I do wonder about Ruth’s husband though.

I wonder where he is, and whether he’s trapped in his own grey place like this.

The more I think about it, the more I think he probably isn’t.

From what’s been said about him, his death was expected, and maybe even wanted towards the end.

He had time to prepare, and good people around him who helped him to understand and accept what was happening. He had time to say goodbye.

I didn’t get any of that. I didn’t even get a warning. My life was snuffed out in an instant. I think maybe it’s only souls like me who end up in places like this.

* * *

Ruth

David is so nice. I really do enjoy spending time with him.

He’s funny and sweet and kind. When the sadness lifts from his shoulders long enough for him to smile, he’s good-looking.

Not that I think of him like that. He’s just a friend.

Besides, anyone who spends more than a few minutes with him can see he’s still in love with his wife.

Poor guy. I can’t imagine how badly it must hurt to lose someone like that, and I hope I never have to find out.

It was agony losing my Chris, but in a way, if it had to happen — the way it did was as good as it could have been.

At least we had time to prepare, and time enough to say goodbye to each other.

As much as it hurt, we both had time to come to terms with what was happening, and to accept it. That can make all the difference.

If I have learnt anything at work in the last few years, it’s that once someone accepts their impending death, it can actually become something quite special.

Of course death is always sad, even when it’s expected and welcomed after a long, painful battle, but I think some passings are worse than others.

And from the little that David’s told me, his wife’s sounds like it was one of the bad ones.

But he is a really, really nice guy, and he makes me laugh, which is a big deal. I don’t think I laugh as much as I should. Certainly not as much as I used to. It really is lovely spending time with David. He’s easy to be around and he doesn’t judge people.

He has a fantastic eye. He showed me some of his paintings, and they’re just lovely.

I never really thought of the old council flats by the common as anything except ugly, but David managed to capture something on canvas that I’d never even seen.

All angles and shadows and light. I guess maybe he sees things differently to most people.

It does make me wonder how he sees me, although I try not to think about things like that.

I’ve been having really good fun with him.

We’re doing things that I haven’t done in years, like going to an art exhibition.

I think the last exhibition I went to was to help Lisa with her art homework, and she hasn’t studied art for at least two years.

Last week we ended up in a bookshop. It doesn’t sound exciting, except that it really was. It started a couple of days before, when David was a few minutes late meeting me for dinner. I’d been flicking through the pages of an old favourite when he arrived, and he instantly recognised the cover.

‘It’s a good book. Nice twist at the end, but I won’t spoil it for you by telling you what it is.’

‘It’s all right. I’ve read it before. More than once. I’ve read most of his books more than once.’

‘Me too.’ David flashed that happy smile at me. ‘The way he looks at the world and spins it is just brilliant. The wizards always make me laugh.’

‘And me, but I like his witches better. They’re brilliant.’

‘You know he’s here at the weekend? He’s signing copies of his new book in town. I didn’t really want to go by myself, though.’

‘We could go together,’ I offered almost immediately. ‘It might even be fun.’

* * *

It was fun. The shop was packed, and people queued out of the store and around the corner to shake the hand responsible for writing such wonderful words. We stood in line for nearly two hours, but the time flew and David made me laugh so hard that my sides hurt.

When it was our turn to have our books signed, I felt as giddy as the teenager I’d been when I first read his books four decades ago.

I shook the author’s hand and gushed. I don’t remember what I said, but no doubt I made a complete fool of myself.

But David didn’t seem to mind as he just grinned and took a photo.

We compared our books in a coffee shop afterwards and David laughed when he saw the kiss across the middle of the page. He told me it was because I had better legs than him, and that was the only reason I got a signed kiss and he didn’t.

It’s surprising how much we seem to have in common.

There’s the big thing, of course. We’re both well acquainted with death and know the pain of having to bury our other halves years sooner than expected, so we can understand and accept each other on a level that most people are lucky enough to never have to think about.

I understand why he slips into talking about his wife as if she’s still here, and he’s happy to ask me questions about Chris and encourage me to remember and share stories.

But it isn’t just that. We have similar tastes in books and films, and I’m learning to see the beauty in the paintings and scenery that he likes.

When he called me the other night to inform me it was going to be a beautiful sunset and to invite me to climb up the hill at the back of the school to watch it, I told him he was nuts.

But he kept on at me until I agreed. Even though I complained all the way up the slope, I had to admit it was quite pretty.

I can’t remember the last time I stopped for long enough to sit and watch the sun go down, but David’s reminding me how important things like that are.

I feel like he’s helping me to find a part of me that I thought was long gone, the part of me that used to see joy and beauty all around.

It was the part of me that carried a brightly coloured umbrella when it rained, because I used to think it was already dull enough without a boring black brolly as well.

It was also the part of me I thought I’d buried with Chris.

But for all the laughter David and I share, every so often his face clouds over and I know he’s thinking about his wife and all the pain is flooding back.

I can really empathise with him. I remember that feeling, and know only too well how the pain can suddenly grab you and flood through you without warning. I remember how crippling it can be.

I think David’s getting better. I know I haven’t known him all that long, but the happiness seems to be winning through in him, and I’m glad. He deserves to be happy.