Chapter 9

Aidan went from the airport straight to work after his farewell to Samantha. Despite the sunshine, life felt bleak and miserable, and there was a great yawning gap in his life. The expression on his face betrayed his feelings, and Vicky took one look at him as he entered the building and showed her sympathy and concern.

“Should you be here?” she asked. “You could take the rest of the day off, you know. The rush is over.”

“No,” he replied, “I need to keep busy; take my mind off it.”

“You know, if you want to talk...”

“Thanks Vic,” he said, cutting her off. “You’re very kind. There’s nothing to say, really. We were perfect for one another, but it was not to be. Life goes on.”

Vicky stood for a moment as if trying to find a way to help, then shrugged and went back to her office. He sat down and looked at the pile of files waiting for his attention. He sighed and got down to work.

He buried himself in the backlog of work, not stopping for lunch. He worked past the normal finishing time, for there was no reason to go home. At seven Vicky returned to the office and brought fish and chips, then went off and brewed some tea in the office kitchen.

“Listen, Aidan,” she said gently, “don’t become a recluse. You have to eat, and you need to relax. I need you fully functional!”

She grinned that infectious grin, and he had to grin back, she was a real tonic.

“Ok,” he said, “I feel down because she’s gone, but we were only together for thirty seven days, you know. I’ll get over it. I was probably on the rebound from Julie anyway.”

However, he did what she suggested. He went home.

He was dreading it. It had been a few years since he had been truly alone, but when he stood in his kitchen and put the kettle on to boil, the place felt peaceful and relaxed. He was sad to have lost Sam, but he felt grateful that he had been her lover for a month and that she had really loved him, still did and always would. Good memories.

He had just sat down with his tea when the phone rang. It was after eleven o’clock.

“Hello?”

“Aidan, it’s Sam. Just want to tell you I arrived safely and I’m home with my folks.”

“Good,” he said. “What time is it there?”

“Half after three!” she laughed. “Imagine, travelling for ten hours and getting here early afternoon!”

“So, all you’ve got to do now is to stay awake,” he said, laughing in his turn.

“Some hopes,” she giggled. Then she sounded serious. “I miss you.”

“Same here,” he replied. “It seems odd talking to you as if you’re in the next room, yet so far away.”

“You won’t forget me, will you Aidan?” she asked with a touch of desperation, he thought.

“No chance of that,” he said. “We’ll keep in touch, won’t we?”

“Sure,”

“Now go and get some sleep.”

“Ok. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

It felt strange. They were talking as if they were only going to be apart for a short while; that they were still lovers, yet they both knew that there was little chance of them ever meeting again. When they were in the process of parting, she did not invite him to Vancouver, and he did not invite her to return for a holiday. He thought it was because they both knew that meeting again would be too painful and would simply prolong the agony.

He shrugged, threw the cold tea away and extracted his (and her) favourite malt. Mindful of work the next day he allowed himself only two drams, and went to bed.

The next morning set the pattern for days to come. He awoke and immediately knew he was alone. Then came dread, which passed, followed by a dead feeling of emptiness and sadness.

That first Wednesday it came as a shock: he had mentally rationalised his situation. Only thirty-seven days. Yes she was beautiful, yes with a totally compatible character and a wonderfully loving way about her. Yes she was highly intelligent. On the other hand he had hardly got to know her and would therefore get over her easily.

However, his brain clearly had not communicated this to his emotions and he was unprepared for his reaction to her going. His general feeling was of dullness. He did his morning routines, ate breakfast by rote and went to work.

He did his job. He dealt with customers. He did the maths – or let his computer do it for him. He kept a watching brief over their workers. Everything felt like a chore. Vicky was absent doing outreach auditing and did not return until the end of the working day.

What he did not do was to smile and joke, or spend lunchtime in their little dining room chatting with the troops, as he was wont to do heretofore. He went out for a sandwich and ate it alone on a park bench or his office. He worked until long after everyone else had gone home. Vicky looked in on him, but he ignored her and she went home as well. He picked up a take-away on his way home at ten, and after eating it, went to bed.

Next day was a repeat of Wednesday. The only difference was that he went home at eight instead of ten, and found en email from Sam. She was telling him about her first couple of days, looking up her friends and her brother, and enjoying her mother’s cooking ‘almost as good as yours’.

He replied, but there was little to say. He weakened and told her he was missing her, but that work was keeping him sane. He wrote about the latest large firm that had employed them. The house felt very empty when he finished it.

So Sam and he began emailing every few days or so. She became depressed at her inability to get a job, and was reluctant to get work waiting on, or as a filing clerk. The woman was fluent in four languages! He told her so.

It did not help his feelings of loneliness, indeed the regular correspondence made things worse, keeping before his mind what he had lost. His depression was aggravated by a lack of interest in meeting the office folk or friends for drinks. He simply could not summon up any enthusiasm. So he just worked, ate and slept. He kept well clear of alcohol, realising where that could lead in his present state of mind. He knew what was happening to him, but was unable to do anything about it.

On Friday there was a phone call from home.

“Aidan,” his mother urged him, “come for dinner on Sunday. We haven’t seen you for months.”

“Oh, Mum,” he sighed, “I don’t feel that sociable at the moment.”

“Kevin says you had a new girlfriend, but she’s gone home – to America, I think he said. You helped her out or something like that.”

“Yes, Mum, that’s roughly it.”

“Is that why you’re miserable? Come home, darling.”

“Is Kevin going to be there?”

“No, do you want him to be?”

“No! The very reverse. I don’t want to see him or Caroline, and especially not Julie!”

“Just you Aidan. Just you.”

“Oh all right,” he said with a bad grace, “I’ll see you Sunday morning.”

He knew before he went there would be an inquisition, and he knew also that he would not be able to dodge or sugar coat it. He was right, but in a sense it was therapeutic.

The following weeks passed monotonously by. The weather was fine and warm, and it cheered most people, but not Aidan. He was not bad-tempered, or short with anyone, he simply seemed dead emotionally; there was no spark.

Then the rains and gales arrived, and everything was grey and sodden. It made little difference to his mood, and a month after Sam had left, Vicky came to his office after work on Wednesday and sat down in front of him.

He looked up. She stared at him. He stared at her. She stood up and walked to the window and looked out. Then looked back at him. Then walked back to the chair and sat down. By this time he was intrigued.

“Ok, Vic,” he said at last. “Spill.”