Rachel sat back on her swivel chair and raised her arms above her head, twisting her neck to the left and right, as she did at the end of any long day spent behind her desk. She looked out of the picture window from where she had a perfect view of a bend in the river with the SS Great Britain docked to the left and the footpath, busy with walkers and runners alike, to the right. She glanced at the calendar on her pinboard where a neat red ring circled the date. It was hard to believe it had been one whole year since she had stepped nervously over the threshold and into the shiny glass building to begin her new job in digital marketing for the data-analytics company. In the last year her confidence had soared; it felt good to be back in the corporate saddle, where her identity was predominantly based on her senior role and no one looked at her with the cocked head and tight-lipped smile of sympathy. And even if it was only for a minute, it allowed her to forget her sadness. Each night, after a brisk walk home through the bustling city with her woolly scarf fastened at her neck and her thoughts thousands of miles away under an inky-blue, star-filled sky, she fell into her bed and often slept soundly. This in itself was a welcome relief after the insomnia of grief that had dictated her routine since losing Oscar.
Her wide desk was devoid of the photographs and personal touches that littered her colleagues’ workspace. Not that she didn’t carry permanent pictures of her family in her mind: images of Oscar laughing, Oscar swimming, and he and James together in the pool or on Liberté ; images that sat behind her eyelids with every blink. But not having to respond to the inevitable questions that would arise from a photograph, or a memento of home, made life easier for her right now. And nearly two years since losing her boy, it was still all about trying to get through life, one day at a time, as best she could.
Her mobile rang.
‘Hey, Vick.’
‘How you doing?’ Her friend cut to the chase.
‘Okay. Just packing up.’ She reached for her keys and handbag.
‘Are you nervous?’
‘Erm, a bit, yes.’ She thought about the evening ahead. ‘In fact, a lot. Very nervous. But also excited, if that makes any sense.’
‘It does. Remember what I told you: try not to think about it too much, try not to over-plan or picture it, just go with it – and know that Gino and I and your mum and dad – all of us – will be right by your side. You’ve got this.’ She spoke with conviction.
‘Thanks, Vick. I feel weird about seeing James.’ She swallowed the flare of nerves that made her feel a little lightheaded.
‘Of course, but we are all so looking forward to seeing him that any awkwardness will be diluted.’
‘Yep, I guess. Anyway, best go. I need to go home and change and whatnot. See you there?’
‘You bet, and remember if at any time it feels too much or you change your mind—’
‘I know – peaches and cream.’ She smiled down the phone at her best friend. ‘Peaches and cream.’
At home, Rachel stood in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom and ran her palms over the calf-length navy frock, adjusting the cream ribbon bow at her neck and running her fingers through her shoulder-length hair.
‘You can do this.’ She nodded at her reflection.
Stepping out into the cold night air, she smiled at the student house opposite, where a new batch of Josh, Olly and Jaspers now lived in the street she called home. She had eschewed the offers of a lift from her parents, and even one from Peter, preferring to walk alone and gather her thoughts. She walked past rewer and looked in at the place, all closed up for the night. It was her favourite hang-out and still somewhere that, if the demand called for it, Glen would throw an apron at her and she would ferry plates of bacon and eggs from the kitchen to the tables with a fixed smile and a bottle of ketchup in her front pocket. She would forever love this little café and the people in it who had become like family to her, scooping her up when she had needed it the most and helping her get through the darkest of times. That little job had been a lifeline, enabled her to find her feet, filling her days and distracting her long enough to let the healing begin.
Rachel quickened her pace until she stood on the path, looking up at the flint-walled chapel where the sparkle of rain fell like gold in the lamplight. It felt a little magical and this made her happy. She pushed open the heavy oak door. Inside, the room was cosy. Candle flames lilted in the breeze and generous bundles of greenery set in sturdy vases had been placed in the deep window recesses and decorated the altar. It was perfect.
She looked at the pews that were starting to fill up with all the people she loved, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Sandra, Keith and Glen had taken seats at the back and she was touched that Keith, whilst still looking a little grumpy, had donned a dark suit and black tie. Vicky and Gino held hands; Francisco had been left at home with his gran. Her mum, she noted, despite her pep talk only the week before, cried openly with a tissue pressed to her nose and this before the service had even begun. Her dad winked at her and placed his arm around his wife. Rachel smiled, reminding herself that grief had no blueprint; it was the right of everyone who loved her boy to mourn him in the way they saw fit.
Once the fog of loss had begun to lift, it had been an easy decision to hold the memorial service for Oscar, and it felt right to have it here in Bristol where her son had roots. She thought back to one of her regular calls to James. They were now able to discuss the minutiae of life without guilt and each sentence was offered like a gently rounded thing, rather than with the sharp barbs of anger and blame that had made previous words lodge in each other’s breast, causing harm.
‘Have you had your lunch?’ she’d asked as she’d stirred a pot of soup on her stovetop.
‘Not yet, might nip up to the Fairmont and grab a salad. It’s a lovely day.’
She’d looked out of the window at the silhouette of chimney pots against the dark sky and tried to remember the bright glare of midday sun through the window and what it felt like to feel the warmth on her skin. ‘Oscar would have me in the pool the moment he got home on a day like that.’
James laughed. ‘Yep, you knew there was never any such thing as a quick dip; it was always a struggle to get him to come inside. Even when he was all pruney.’
They both laughed. It was a sad little laugh of happy memories tainted by the knowledge of what came next.
‘His birthday’s coming up,’ James whispered.
‘Yep, two weeks, three days.’ She stopped stirring and placed the spoon on the countertop, her appetite suddenly gone.
‘I don’t know what I will do. Probably work late and just get my head down and then go home and drink gin.’ He spoke softly.
‘I’m thinking of taking the day off and pulling the duvet over my head and switching off my phone and sleeping, or at least pretending to.’
‘That sounds like a plan.’
She knew he understood.
‘I’ve been thinking, James, that maybe it’s time we did something to mark Oscar’s passing.’ She took a deep breath, trying to read his silence. ‘I don’t know how you feel, but I was going to suggest that we have a memorial service for him, something . . .’ She paused, listening intently to the silence on the other end of the line.
His response when it came was offered with the wobble of emotion she knew all too well.
‘I think that would be the best thing, Rach; the absolute best thing.’
That had been a couple of months ago and here they were.
She shrugged off her coat and handed it to Vicky, who placed it on her lap, along with her own. Rachel waved to James’s parents, happy they had made it. She walked forward and felt someone reach out and pat her arm. Looking down at the end of the pew, she stared into the face of the man she had not seen for over a year – her husband, her James. It was not only strange to feel the jolt of nerves for someone she was married to, but also odd to see him in this environment. It had been a long time since she had seen him in a winter coat. He smiled at her and she felt the spread of warmth in her chest, and something that felt a lot like relief.
Here you are . . .
He looked well, tanned of course, but he had filled out a little and seemed to have lost the sunken, sallow demeanour that had dogged him since that day.
‘Hey, you.’
‘Hey, you.’
They each took a second, examining the face of the other, once so familiar, now relearning the new bruise-like shadows and lines of age; the marks of grief that they wore like battle scars.
‘This place is just right,’ he whispered.
‘I think so.’ She let her eyes skirt the small chapel.
‘Are you going to be okay?’
She nodded, feeling the swell of joy bloom in her gut simply because he was by her side, tonight when she needed him most. She had quite forgotten how his very presence, the proximity of him, made her feel safe, settled – and the force of it took her by surprise.
The little chapel was quiet; evening had been a good choice, the still of the night and the cloak of the dark contributing to the atmosphere of solemn thanks, given for a beautiful life in which she had been privileged to play a part.
Post the joyous rendition of ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ and with candles flickering, Rachel gave a small cough and stood behind the sturdy brass lectern, gripping the sides, grateful for the prop that kept her shaking hands steady. She spoke to the small gathering – people she and James loved and who loved them in return.
‘I have been worrying over what to say,’ she confessed, trying to control the quaver to her voice. ‘I wanted to say how much we love and miss Oscar, but I don’t know if I need to, as that feels like a given. He was a special little boy, an inquisitive, funny, smart little boy who was our joy. I know he is with us, part of us all, every single day. Our friend, our family member Cee-Cee, whom most of you don’t know – but trust me, she was very special and important in our lives – she told me this: “Your family, your kin, that’s all you have; it’s all we have. Those in the present and those gone before, we all share the same things and we are bound.”’ Rachel paused and took a deep breath. ‘And she was right. Thank you. Thank you, Cee-Cee,’ she managed, looking up at the rafters of the chapel before letting her eyes fall to James.
He stood and the two passed in the aisle, she felt the lightest brush of his hand against hers and it sent sweet tremors of happiness through her very core.
She watched as he, too, steadied himself and looked out over the expectant faces.
‘My wife once asked me if she thought it was possible to be too lucky.’ He paused, and she pictured that night: she and James in the water with her arms wrapped tightly around him and the moonlight sending dappled shafts of light over the blue, blue sea. ‘I told her this . . .’ He stopped again, swallowed and fixed his eyes on her. ‘You are my mate as well as my wife, and you are the best mum. Don’t you worry, this life is just going to get better and better.’ He did nothing to stop the tears that freely fell; this in turn triggered the tears of all who watched him with his head slightly bowed, standing at the lectern. James coughed and exhaled, before calmly saying, ‘And it was true, Rach. All of it. There is no one else in the whole wide world Oscar and I could have loved as much. We were lucky. And I meant it, this life is just going to get better and better. From now on. We miss him, we will always miss him, but this is the moment. Better and better . . .’
The hymns that followed were sung with gusto and Rachel was glad others had taken up the mantle, as emotion prevented her from getting a note out. After the service she and James stood by the chapel door, issuing and receiving hugs and handshakes to all who had stood and given thanks for the life of their son. She found it almost overwhelming when her dad wrapped her husband in his big arms and the two stood together, heads on each other’s shoulders, no words needed.
They had decided against a get-together afterwards, wanting the service to be as short and meaningful as possible without the distraction of booze and small talk. People understood and she noticed seemed keen to be alone with their grief, the depths of which had been stirred by the words sincerely spoken.
‘That was as perfect as it could have been.’ He looked down at her.
‘Yes, yes, it was, and I am so, so glad you came all this way, James. It means the world, and of course it was only possible because you were here.’ She felt a flicker of desolation at the thought that he would soon be heading back to his island home.
She saw him shiver. ‘You’re cold!’
‘You could say that. It’s bloody freezing.’ He shoved his hands inside his coat pocket and hunched his shoulders.
‘You’re a Bermy boy now, not used to this chilly weather.’
He laughed.
‘Would you like to come back to my flat? I have coffee and central heating,’ she offered instinctively, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to want to spend time alone with this man.
James nodded and moved his elbow away from his body, leaving just enough of a gap for her to place her arm through. It felt comfortable, familiar and yet her heart pounded in her chest as nerves set in. Reunited, they walked side by side along the pavements, until they trod the stairs to her flat.
It felt strange having him in her little home. She watched as he slipped his arms from his winter coat and placed it on the back of the chair before taking a seat on the sofa, filling her little flat with his presence. Rachel put the kettle on, watching him from the doorway of the galley kitchen as he looked around the room. He was still as handsome as ever. She was struck by the way it felt to be in such close proximity to him, bringing to mind Gino and Vicky, laughing on the sofa, her dad with his arms around her mum’s shoulders, even Peter and Julie, verbally jumping to each other’s defence: couples, friends, lovers. Suddenly, she realised just how much she had missed being part of a two. James and Rachel. Rachel and James . . .
‘Are you happy here, Rachel?’
‘Oh!’ The question caught her a little off guard. ‘I am getting there. Mine is not a life I would have chosen, but it’s my life and that’s all there is to it. And I think happy is a stretch too far, but peace feels within reach. Yes, peace, that’s the very best I can hope for. I am out of my cocoon and I’m doing okay.’
‘Yep, that just about sums it up.’ He sat back against the cushions. ‘I know I am mending; my mind is sharper and I can now control my sadness, whereas before!’ He threw his hands in the air and she remembered a phone call when he was in the bank, sobbing . . .
‘Yes, sharper-minded, I agree with that, and I never really understood what Cee-Cee meant when she said you kind of learn to live with the pain, but you do, don’t you?’
‘Yes, you do.’ He nodded sharply. ‘It’s like my body has swallowed up the whole experience and it sits inside me, always there, but I carry on.’
‘Are you happy?’ She returned the question.
He looked towards the window and answered slowly. ‘Happy no, but better than I was. I am able to look at Oscar’s life as a whole and I wish I wasn’t able to; wish I didn’t know about his last chapter, but’ – he swallowed – ‘it’s as if my mind has now accepted that his death was part of his story. The seven years we had of him – his beginning, his middle and his end . . . He was ours and we loved him and we were lucky to have him.’
‘We were lucky,’ she managed. ‘And thank you for what you said in the chapel, it was beautiful.’
‘I meant it. And I keep thinking that if someone had asked me before he was born that if I knew in advance we would only get seven years but could choose not to have him, not to have this heartache, would I choose that?’
‘Of course not.’ She closed her eyes and answered for him.
‘Of course not,’ he confirmed.
They took a moment to analyse this truth. This painful, bittersweet truth.
‘I sold the boat.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes. I had no desire to take her out and so . . .’
She nodded her understanding. ‘I sometimes, in my less than lucid moments, think that the life in Bermuda carries on without me, as if Cee-Cee and Oscar and you are in the house on North Shore Road and everything is as it was, and strangely it brings me comfort. I can picture you all there having a lovely time.’
He held her eyeline and there was a moment of silent contemplation for them both. She tried to imagine what it was going to feel like once he had returned to that house on the North Shore Road and the thought of him leaving caused something close to panic to rise in her throat.
‘Except I am not there with Cee-Cee and Oscar.’ He broke her thoughts. ‘I am there on my own and I am not having a lovely time.’
She slipped down on to the sofa next to him. ‘Are you lonely, James?’ She felt bold asking.
He looked at her. ‘I have been lonely since I stood in the galley with cups of coffee in my hands.’
‘Me too,’ she whispered.
James reached out hesitantly and took her hand into his. Her stomach flipped and it was as if electricity flowed from his palm to hers. It was warm, it was life-giving and it felt a lot like home.
‘I miss you. I miss you so badly.’ He spoke softly.
Rachel leaned in and placed her head on his chest in the place where she had woken and fallen asleep more times than she could possibly remember. And what she felt wasn’t scary or jarring, but instead felt a lot like a beginning.
‘You know, Rach, after everything we’ve been through, I don’t need beaches, sunsets, yachts or a view of the sea. I don’t need anything apart from moments like this, here with you.’
‘Paradise.’ The word slipped from her lips unbidden.
‘Yes.’ He tentatively kissed her scalp. ‘Paradise.’