Page 3 of Things We Never Said
April shrugs. ‘Anything, really.’
Sean shakes his head. ‘No, sweetie. You know she didn’t.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
‘That doesn’t stop you believing whatever you want, though.’
‘No,’ April says. ‘I know. Only I don’t either, really.’ She glances around the room as if perhaps searching for some manifestation of her mother’s spirit. ‘I wish I did. It would be nice to feel she was ... you know ... living on. Somewhere else.’
Sean chews his lip and screws up his eyes against yet another bout of tears. He taps his chest with his fingertips. ‘In here, sweetheart,’ he says. ‘She’s in here.’
‘Yeah,’ April says, sniffing and dabbing at her eyes before turning her attention back to the TV screen. ‘So, a film, eh?’
‘Nothing soppy, though, OK?’
‘No,’ April says. ‘No, I know.’
Unable to choose anything that might be too emotional, yet not wanting to watch either an action film or a horror movie, April ends up choosing a biopic about the life of Che Guevara; but with her mind wanting only to think about her mother, she finds herself totally unable to concentrate on the film.
Sean, for his part, falls asleep quickly. Some hours later, when he wakes up, the television has been switched off and the room is empty. He sits for a few seconds, half asleep still, and then, just as he begins to wonder where Catherine is, he remembers. He gasps and sits bolt upright.
Sean sits at the kitchen table and cups the steaming mug of tea in his hands. He glances at the sink – it’s piled high with washing-up – then shifts his focus to the window and finally to the garden beyond.
It’s a sunny spring day and he should probably get washed and dressed and get out there. It might make him feel a little better. Or at least a little less bad.
But only two days have passed since the funeral and this is his first day alone, so this is allowed, isn’t it? He’s back to work on Monday, so surely he’s entitled to spend the weekend staring into the middle distance, to spend the next forty-eight hours feeling utterly, utterly wretched if he wants to.
He looks at the rose bush, blowing in the wind. He hears Catherine’s voice saying, ‘That’ll need pruning as soon as this frost is over.’
‘But I don’t know how to prune a rose bush,’ he murmurs, as if perhaps Catherine might hear him. It crosses his mind that there are probably thousands of things he doesn’t know how to do – things he never even realised that Catherine did. He starts to make a mental list but then, realising that it’s just another way of describing her, another route to thinking about the loss, he stops himself. It’s just too painful.
He’s still sitting, the mug on the table long since cold, when a knock on the lounge window makes him jump.
He twists in his seat and through the arch between the kitchen and the lounge sees Maggie peering in, her face framed by cupped hands. He exhales heavily, levers himself from the chair and slopes across the room in the direction of the front door. Cooler air bursts into the house as he pulls it open. ‘I’m not properly up yet,’ he tells Maggie, flatly.
She scans his rumpled clothes, then peers into his eyes in search of ... in search of what? Something – anything, perhaps. He sees her see that there’s nothing there. He sees her note the emptiness, and the fact of her observing it makes it become real, makes it become a thing he’s aware of.
‘I brought you sushi,’ she says briskly as she raises the pink paper bag in her left hand. Under her right arm she’s holding a box wrapped in brown paper. ‘I’ll bet you’ve not eaten anything and I know how you love sushi.’
Sean nods and reaches for the bag. ‘Cheers,’ he says.
‘It’s from the place on Mill Road. They’re the best, I reckon. May I come in?’
‘Er ... do you have to?’ Sean asks, wincing awkwardly. ‘It’s just ... as I was saying ... I’m not really up yet.’
‘It’s only for a minute,’ Maggie says, stepping forwards and, in so doing, forcing Sean to move to one side. ‘Just long enough to check that you’re OK.’
‘OK ...’ Sean repeats, quietly. He’s not sure what that even means anymore.
He rolls his eyes at the now-empty doorstep, sighs deeply and then turns to follow Maggie into the house.
‘The place looks like a tip, Mags,’ he calls out, peering inside the bag at the plastic tray of sushi as he follows her. ‘I want to be quiet at the moment, that’s all.’
When he reaches the kitchen, he finds that Maggie has removed her coat. She’s already stacking the dishwasher.
‘ ... and just leave the dishwasher door open if that helps,’ she’s saying. ‘That way you’ll automatically dump your plates and stuff in the dishwasher rather than the sink. And once it’s full all you have to do is close it and switch it on. I’ll even put a dishwasher tab in so that it’s all ready for you. How does that sound?’
‘I do know how to stack the dishwasher,’ Sean says through another sigh. ‘I’m just ... you know ...’
