Page 18 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
‘Mum talks to that picture every night,’ Cleo says.
Doug looks down like he didn’t hear that bit.
‘That’s sad. My dog passed away last year. We buried him in the garden but don’t tell anyone that or Dad thinks we might not be able to sell our house.’
‘I won’t,’ I reply.
‘Is Tom in our garden?’ asks a curious Cleo.
‘No. We cremated him and I left ashes in one of his favourite places.’
‘I’d want my ashes sprinkled in McDonald’s,’ Isaac announces.
Doug laughs through his nose. I don’t know how to respond to that. Which branch? You’d just be hoovered up, no? Isaac moves through the room, mercurially.
‘You move like a velociraptor…’ I tell him. It’s no lie. He’s loud like one too. He mounts beds/chairs with excellent balance and agility. He stops for a moment, seemingly impressed by the comparison.
‘And what’s this?’ But before I can catch the little whirling dervish, he’s gone in my bedside drawer and pulled out a vibrator. How? Doug’s face goes crimson. Yes, after I watch my drama series, and in the absence of my regular sex friend, I am probably going to spend the evening with that. See, I can be fun. Luckily, I don’t think it has much battery life in it. Except it does. As proven by Isaac when he presses a button and turns it on.
‘DON’T DO THAT!’ I shout. Isaac drops it and it starts buzzing around the floor like a very angry mouse. I can literally hear Doug wetting himself with laughter. You bastard.
‘I’m sorry. Are you angry?’ Isaac asks me. I freeze. Don’t make the visiting child cry. Don’t cry. ‘Don’t be. My mum has, like, five. CLEO, LET’S GO AND SEE IF I CAN FLY DOWN YOUR STAIRS!’
5
‘I don’t think bollocks should look like that. It’s starting to look a bit cauliflower-like.’
‘Rudeness. All breasts don’t look the same. Your right nipple points north-east while the other one points due north.’
‘You should get it checked out.’
‘“Hi, could you have a look at my knackers as my wife is obsessed with the fact they’re not smooth like plums?” Maybe it’s because you play with them too much.’
‘I do not.’
‘You do. You play with them to avoid having to pay attention to my knob. He notices these things, it makes him sad you love the bollocks more than me.’
‘Did you just personify your penis?’
‘I did.’
I sit up in bed. Do I dream about Tom? Quite a lot. If we were to put a number on it, like ‘how many units of alcohol do you drink in a week,’ I’d be ticking the three-times-a-week box. Sometimes the dreams are surreal and have no meaning. I once dreamt we were pro-wrestlers, some WWF super team where our major trick was to slap people across the head with chairs. There was a wonderfully exuberant theme to our leotards (naturally, we also had capes) and we were raking it in with the endorsements (we had action figures, our own breakfast cereal and a cartoon tie-in show). But other times, they play to me like flashbacks, snippets of conversations in which his humour and good nature shine through, or I’m taken back to moments where it should have gone differently.
I look over at the clock now and it’s 3.13 in the morning. The thirteenth of March was Tom’s birthday. Sometimes I think he does this to mock me. I wonder if all widows have insomnia like this. I’ve tried everything. Hot milk, teas, massage and sex with school-run dads. Sometimes they work; more often than not they don’t. Usually I’m sitting here overthinking the small details of my life, staring at my ceiling and the strange patch of paint where the brushstrokes don’t quite line up. Or sometimes I talk. To him.
You’re haunting me. You said you’d do that.
I really feel that I need to do it properly. Film-worthy haunting where I crawl out of the television or visit you via old VHS tapes.
That wouldn’t work as I haven’t seen a VCR since the nineties. You’d need to upgrade to DVD or haunt me via Netflix.
Have you tried hot milk to sleep?
Doesn’t work.
What about apps that play ambient noise?
No. I tried listening to a river and it made me want to pee. How did you do it? You used to fall asleep in seconds, as soon as your head hit the pillow.
