Page 52 of How Much Wine Will Fix My Broken Heart?
‘Mother Teresa?’
‘I bet she had her vices. I bet she drank like a sailor.’
I exhale loudly, not really knowing where my emotion is taking me. Grief does this sometimes; it has me in a chokehold in which the tangle of thoughts are too knotted to unravel.
‘I just… I still feel it, Linh. I thought it would be gone by now. That feeling of grief, of missing him so intently. I was told something today that made me so angry, that should make me want to throw him off a bridge, but instead it makes me realise how much I love him.’
She gets up to make me a cup of tea, her back turned to me.
‘You know, I’m at that age now where loss is part and parcel of my life. I’ve lost my parents, siblings, friends and now a daughter and son-in-law.’
I am a sobbing mess now as she remains perfectly calm.
‘One moment those people are there and, the next, they’re not. Sometimes you get time to prepare for this, sometimes you don’t. It doesn’t get any easier, I don’t think it’s supposed to. But to feel their loss means those people meant something to you. You loved them. They loved you.’
She stirs my tea, thoughtfully.
‘Tom won’t be the first person you lose. I hate to say that out loud.’
‘Then this is what life is? Investing all my love in people only for them to go away?’
She turns to look at me, sadly.
‘Then what? Live on your own? Never get close to anyone so you can spare yourself the pain of potentially losing them? That is not the Grace I know.’ Her tone is raised, almost scolding me. ‘The Grace I first came to love used to send parcels to a man in Vietnam. These impeccably wrapped gifts of Marmite and Hobnob biscuits and she used to cut out newspaper articles of interest and write beautiful notes.’
‘How did you…?’ I ask her.
‘Because he would show me.No one has ever loved me like Grace.’
The tears roll down my face uncontrollably now, racing in tracks down my cheeks. She comes over to put the cup of tea next to me and embrace me tightly. When she releases me, I sit here and try and catch my breath.
I take a sip of tea, still not able to find the right words.
‘I never know why you English drink tea at night. This is why you don’t sleep.’ I try and summon up some laughter. ‘And cheese with chips? This is also very confusing to me.’
‘It’s a reason to live,’ I tell her, rubbing my blotchy eyes, trying to lighten the mood. ‘Did Tom have girlfriends in Vietnam? Did he sleep with anyone while he lived out there with you?’
‘He didn’t sleep with me, if that’s what you’re asking?’ she says mockingly.
I snort with disbelief.
‘I can’t say, Gracie. I don’t think he did. Well, he never told me about it. He once got a rash on his crotch but I suspect that was heat rash. He wore his shorts far too tight.’
‘He showed you his crotch?’
‘No,’ she says, giggling. ‘He used to scratch it around me though and I told him that was uncouth.’
That made sense. We used to wait for the bus and he’d rearrange his tackle in front of people. I rest my head on the kitchen table and she puts a hand to my face.
‘I shouldn’t have put chips in. I’ll be here all night waiting for them to cook.’
‘We can sit here for as long as you want.’
‘I love you, Linh.’
‘Love you too, girl.’
13
