Chapter 9

It was a Thursday evening in July, two and a half months after her death. David sat slumped in his chair in the living room. Beth was fast asleep in her cot, and he had just finished reading Evan his nightly story. The boy always took a long time to go to sleep, though he had given up asking when Mummy was going to come and tuck him in. Each time it had wrung David’s heart afresh. Each time he told the little one that Mummy was looking down on him and loving him, and had given the little lad a kiss ‘from Mummy’ before going to the bathroom so the child would not hear him weeping.

After ten weeks doing everything alone, he was exhausted. It was not simply being at his children’s beck and call, taking care of little Beth’s needs and finding time to play with Evan while getting the washing and ironing done, the terry nappies cleaned, washed and dried, the shopping with both children in tow, and house cleaning while Evan took his nap in the afternoon. There was no let up in that. But there was the yawning gap at his centre where Gwen had been, and the recurring mourning that always took him by surprise.

Apparently he was doing everything right. Beth was putting on weight as she ought to, Evan mostly played happily and the health visitor was on hand to give advice and to assure him he was a wonderful father, but he had never worked so hard or for so long each day; there was no let up.

Since ... the event... (he could not bring himself to name his wife’s death) he had not had any time off. His own fault, he realised that: a good number of women had volunteered to babysit, to take the strain, but he had obstinately refused to let anyone else near his babies.

For one thing, Evan had clung to him every time he tried to leave the house, even to put out the rubbish. Evan had followed him round the house for the first two weeks after his grandmother had gone home, fearful that David would leave him as well as his mummy, and his granny, until David got him engrossed in one game or another and he began to trust that David would not in fact disappear.

After the funeral, he remembered, there were all sorts of people visiting him, both male and female, some offering help, but he had been so defensive, or morose and uncommunicative that the visitors began to dwindle, until on this evening he realised he had not seen anyone at the house for two solid weeks. He had had invitations to take the children with him to friends’ for dinner, but he was too tired and sad to accept, so soon those invitations had stopped also.

Alex had been the most faithful, calling in on his way from work for a chat. He would stand about while David did washing, cleaning feeding Evan or changing Bethan, or make him some tea while he did those chores, but even his brief visits had ceased in the past week, and David had been too apathetic to call him.

He remembered the last visit.

“David,” Alex had said urgently. “You have to get someone in to help you; you’re wasting away; you look more and more tired and haggard each time I see you.”

David had shrugged, and mumbled that there was time for that.

“I don’t want to nag you,” his friend had continued, “but aren’t you due back at work in three weeks? You need to get someone to look after the children then.”

“They’ll give me extra time,” said David, though deep down he knew he had already taxed their patience long enough. He felt a real sense of dread about leaving his little ones.

“Come on, David, they’ve given you three months! Yes, you can have more time, but not on full pay. You can’t afford to live on Paternity Allowance, and the company won’t support you for ever. You need this job for the children’s sake. You know it, don’t you?”

David would not have taken that nagging from anyone else, but had nodded disconsolately. He knew it all right, but also knew he wouldn’t be able to leave the children in a stranger’s care. His parents were too far away, and Gwen’s even further, and the two grandmothers had already given all the time they could after the funeral.

They left it at that, Alex extracting a reluctant promise that David would look for a nanny, or a nursery. Alex had not been back.

David felt the grey clouds of depression gather, and once again looked towards the drinks cabinet, feeling the pull of an alcoholic stupor to allow him to escape this hell he was living in, but he did not move. He could not let Gwen down; he would live for their children, but the darkness in his spirit deepened and once again the tears fell.

He started into wakefulness. He had been deeply asleep. Then he heard the doorbell.

Good old Alex, he thought, levering himself out of the chair, and making his way to the front door.

He opened the door. “Hi, Al...”

He stopped, his mouth agape.

“Hello David,” said the visitor, whose face betrayed a brief look of distress at his appearance before it was replaced by a nervous smile.

He found his voice. “Celia? What... ?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me in?” she asked, her smile becoming more confident.

He stood back, and gestured to her to enter, which she did, preceding him to the living room. She sat on the sofa, collected and demure.

“A drink?” he asked, looking at her. She was as lovely as ever, perfect in every detail, the light summer dress riding up a little to show her perfect legs and half her thighs. He could see it was not deliberate; it was simply the way she was, the way summer fashions were.

“Have you still got some of that Dalwhinnie?” she asked.

He nodded and went to the drinks cabinet. Pouring her the 15 year old malt whisky of her choice and getting a little jug of water from the kitchen.

He sat down.

“No drink for you?” she asked.

“No,” he said, “Have to be alert and sober for the children.”

She cast him a glance, the meaning of which he did not understand. It was as if she wanted to reproach him, but would not; or perhaps it was respect?