Page 48 of The Art of Loving You

Crying when I read the result.

Chapter Seventeen

The pregnancy text screamed negative at me. I hurled it at the wall to shut it up. That plastic stick had ripped away my future in less than three minutes. The tiny smidgen of hope that I’d have something left of Jack. Not solely my memories or a heart full of love for him but something new. Something solid and tangible that would grow. On the shelf above the radiator stood my make-up and my angry arm swept everything onto the floor. It was after kicking the side of the bath in frustration, forgetting it was cast iron, that my rage turned to hurt.

Physical.

Emotional.

I sank to the floor. One hand clutching my throbbing toes, the other hand resting on my belly as though there was a life inside of me that I needed to protect.

There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there.

Time leapfrogged into May. Victim Support had been in touch; apparently although Jack was the one who was stabbed, I was a victim too and just hearing that word made me feel weaker. Powerless. I’d been assigned a support worker but I had told her I’d be in touch whenever I was ready to talk about it, just as I’d told Greta I’d return to work when I felt ready,but it wouldn’t be until wedding season was over. I couldn’t take photos of someone else’s happily ever after, knowing that I wouldn’t get my own.

On my phone I opened up the web page for the online support group I frequented, but today reading other people’s pain to reassure myself I wasn’t alone didn’t bring me any solace. I scrolled through a post from a woman called Ivy whose husband died three years ago and she was still deep in grief, had cut off her family and friends and, except for shopping, never left the house.

‘Bill would be heartbroken if he could see me now,’ she acknowledged.

I hadn’t yet left the house without Alice or Mum.

What would Jack feel if he could see me now? It was time to try and be more positive. I didn’t want to be like Ivy.

I wanted to feel like me.

There was an ambulance outside the care home.

Sid.

The sight of it caused my heart to swell in my chest, like it might explode if I experienced one more loss.

Sid.

I sprinted through the building, the doors shushing against the thick carpet as I hurled my shoulder against the doors.

Sid.

By the time I’d checked the conservatory, his bedroom and reached the residents’ lounge with its floral sofas and curtains – its decor tragically trapped in the Eighties – I was breathless, shaking with relief at the sight of Sid swiping biscuits from a plate.

‘Hello, Libby duck. This is a nice surprise.’

I couldn’t speak while I gathered my breath and my composure and when I finally found my words again all I could say was,‘You’re okay, you’re okay.’

‘Libby …’ There was understanding in his kind eyes. ‘Ethel pulled her groin doing yoga. She wanted me to have a look but I wasn’t putting me hands up her skirt. The ambulance was called as a precaution. She’s fine.’

‘Yoga?’ I cast my eyes doubtfully around at the residents.

‘It’s in an armchair. None of that wrapping your legs around your neck malarkey. But Ethel insisted on trying it on the floor. Honestly that woman’s about as flexible as the chef here who serves fish every Friday, pie and mash on a Saturday like the world would stop turning if we had a bloody sausage at the weekend.’

‘Do you join in?’

‘Do I heck. That young instructor tried to teach me to breathe. I said, “You don’t get to be eighty-one without knowing how to breathe.” I do hang around for the refreshments afterwards though. There’ll be more later. It’s crafting this afternoon. Our Norma would have loved that.’

‘Did she like to make things?’

‘She did. There’s probably still a box or two in the house crammed with scraps of material and knick-knacks she’d collected to make stuff out of. Come on, duck. There’s something I’d like to show you.’

In Sid’s room he ignored the chairs and lowered himself onto his bed then patted the space next to him. He reached for a folded quilt and flapped it open; it was a patchwork blend of different types of material, rainbow colours and monochrome, all cut in various shapes and sizes.

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