James had always loved autumn, it was by far his favourite season. Not just because his birthday was right in the middle of it, or that bonfire night was another occasion to enjoy the colder evenings, it was much more.
He loved waking up to the crisp mornings, with a hint of frost bejewelling the grass, the vibrant colours of the trees, their leaves having changed from shades of green to the palette of yellows, reds and browns. The evening walks with his dog and the scent of woodsmoke in the air, followed by a warm drink in front of the wood burner.
It wasn’t all of autumn though, the seemingly endless days of rain, sometimes so fine it appeared as a cloak in the air, engulfing everything in its veil of moisture, the wind so strong the trees relinquished their smaller branches in the hope of retaining the rest. You could keep those bits.
Tonight though, there were no clouds to bring rain and no wind to rattle the trees, the stars lit up the sky as though someone had spread fairy lights across the horizon. James drank in the night air as he strolled along the coastal path back towards the village, smiling at the sight of smoke rising from chimneys of cottages and imagining those inside, toes being warmed by the fire.
Since the clocks had changed the evenings had become darker, and before setting out for their regular walk and he and Copper, his faithful Irish Setter, enjoyed the added depth the fading light brought. They took the same route every night, down towards the copse, over the bridge spanning the river and out along the coast in a wide sweep of the bay before heading back. It was particularly cold this time, so a slight detour was added as James headed to the chip shop, where he bought some chips and a sausage for him and Copper to share while watching the sea gently lapping at the shore.
After their snack, Copper rested his head on James’ thigh and looked up at him with adoring eyes. Amazing what a sausage can do. He stroked Copper’s head and ears, thinking to himself how lucky he was to be here, on such a peaceful evening with his best friend at his side. It was these moments that he missed her the most.
Counselling – well, talking – had done a lot more to help James than he’d thought it might. There’d been plenty of texts and cards and phone calls from friends in the weeks following Laura’s death, and he was grateful for each one. But somehow, once he’d thanked everyone and assured them – untruthfully – that he was sort-of-okay, the words to express himself just wouldn’t come. He had no idea where to start, what to say or even how he felt. What to do next, he also couldn’t work out for the life of him. Everything seemed impossible, from making dinner to making a decision.
He couldn’t decide, in particular, whether to move far away from the relentless reminders of Laura and start again somewhere else. His thoughts veered towards Wales, Yorkshire, the Highlands, and bounced distractingly between them until he was back where he’d started – at home, where he and Copper both felt safe. So that was, at least, one decision made, even if he still found himself eating the same evening meal in ten years’ time.
But once he was through the first anguished months, when he couldn’t tolerate the company of anyone much apart from Copper, James realised – very suddenly, one Thursday for no reason that he could pinpoint – it was time to either start talking or fall apart completely. And the amount that came to the surface, after what felt like quite a short time of very gentle conversation, was another surprise to him.
The aching emptiness that nothing seemed to be able to fill, the desolate future stretching ahead, the misery of not having had children together: all of that, and far more, came tumbling out of his mind and mouth in the company of an endlessly patient stranger. He never looked disgusted, embarrassed or shocked by James’ language or tears or anger. Actually, he appeared almost to approve when James swore, or wept for the whole hour’s session, or yelled furiously at a god he didn’t believe in.
But now – a year, four months and two days after he’d lost Laura – he didn’t any longer feel the need to swear or yell, though he still wept from time to time. He walked, instead, mostly. The sea soothed him, and he realised after a while that it was helping to heal him, too. Not helping him to forget: that was never going to happen. He could tell that Copper was still mystified by her absence, too – he’d look up when James was putting his lead on, with a question in his patient brown eyes: well, where is she, then?
So they’d walk – sometimes just a loop of the village, and other times a few miles – then go home for that drink in front of the fire, which had been one of James’s favourite things to do with Laura at the end of an autumn evening, with music on in the background and Copper stretched out across the rug.
James was aware that he had only really left the house to walk Copper and the odd trip to the local shop for bread and perhaps a cheeky bottle of red. Laura was always the outgoing one and would often be out of an evening with some group or other, one or two slightly more energetic.
Wednesday would have been book club day, James vividly recalled his fake yawn when Laura had announced this as her latest venture to fully integrate with different layers of the village community.
James had been to the group just once, to deliver the devastating news of Laura’s passing and was overwhelmed by the sympathy and care he received from the members of the Schooner Hotel Novelistas. Tonight though, for reasons he really couldn’t explain, he felt compelled to go along. He had no prior desire to sit in a bar to do anything other than drink and eat, but maybe it was memories – or maybe just a growing need to be with people – he grabbed his keys and Copper’s lead and headed to the door. The cold autumn air reminded him of the night he had stumbled upon Laura and one of her less traditional groups cavorting about on the sand and chanting something. A smile crept across his face as he remembered her summary of the evening on her return home and the feel of her shaking with a combination of the cold night and laughter.
After a few minutes James found himself at the door of The Schooner, the sign outside advertising the “finest seafood in Alnmouth”…”yeah, you and everywhere else,” whispered James as he tentatively went inside.
There they were, almost as though frozen in time, in the same seats and, who knows, the same clothes as when he last saw them. He froze at the entrance to the room they always used and nearly turned to leave but was spotted by the same kindly lady that sat with him last summer and held his hand, while she shared her memories of his wife.
”Don’t just stand there, young man,” she said with a broad smile, “you’re making the place look untidy”. She beckoned him over to where they sat, huddled around a few bowls of crisps and nuts and an array of what he would have called ‘old lady drinks’, white wine, half a stout and he could have sworn he saw a dry sherry in there.
Joan got up and gave him a hug, as though they were long-lost friends, then went to the bar. Moments later she returned with a warm smile and a pint of beer. “Here you go, and Bill is bringing some water over for Copper, it is Copper isn’t it?” “You have an excellent memory,“ said James, still a little shy, “and thank you, there really was no need”. “Don’t be silly,” she almost interrupted, you’ll need this for the book we’re about to review,” and with a wink, she turned to the group and they made room for their newest member.
On his way home James realised he felt different. Better, actually – that was more accurate, he felt better, happier even. He’d scoffed at Laura and her book club, and commented that she had become ‘old before her time’, and she’d laughed it off with the usual response she gave to most of his comments in a similar vein – “don’t knock it ’till you’ve tried it”. And now he had, he couldn’t knock it at all.
He can’t even remember the title of the book, and it wasn’t the beer blocking his memory, it was the friendship and the laughter. He did recall asking if they solved murders on their Wednesday evenings, for which he received a ripple of giggles. But he also remembered being asked if he would be back next week, and stalled a little before giving his reply. It took very little coaxing to elicit agreement, which pleasantly surprised him – although for the life of him he couldn’t remember the title of next week’s book so he could have stood a fighting chance of keeping up with the idea in his mind about what a ‘book club’ actually talked about. Mind you, if tonight had been anything to go by, it was anything but books.
And not once did anyone mention Laura, it was all about those present, the right now and James realised as he and Copper walked just how grateful he was about that simple aspect of the evening.
By the time late November arrived, most of the trees had shed any vestiges of their autumn leaves, and waved their bare branches in the gathering wind from the sea. These dark nights brought with them a beauty that a summer evening couldn’t possess, lights from the buildings shimmering on the shore, the sea looked like it was peppered with candles. The smell of coal and wood fires drifting through the air, and the chill kept at bay by the coats, hats and scarves that were hidden throughout the summer in cupboards and drawers.
Safely ensconced in his house, James sat at his piano – well, it had been Laura’s and she had tried to teach him to play, but even with her seemingly endless patience she had to admit defeat. “You can’t expect to be an expert after just three lessons,” she’d told him after his obvious frustration about not being Alnmouth’s answer to Rachmaninov in a week.
He stared at the keys, remembering her slender fingers gliding across them, and marvelling at the sounds she could create. But instead of bursting into tears, which had been a typical outcome of being in this room, he smiled.
“Age is just a number, right?” he said to Copper, who until then had been fast asleep on the rug but woke with an expectant look on his face. “I reckon we could have another go, what do you say?” Copper looked at him, head to one side as though trying to fathom what on earth he was about to do, but decided the best thing for him to do was go back to sleep.
James dug around in the stool to see if he could find the ‘Beginner’s guide to playing the piano’ books, then once collected he stacked them on the table at the side of the piano and padded into the kitchen. While waiting for the kettle to boil he scanned YouTube for videos on how to play and watched one that looked reasonably accessible.
With a fresh mug of coffee in his hand, he took himself back to the living room where the piano took up most of one wall, sat on the stool and opened one of the books.
The score, he was fairly sure that’s what Laura had called it, looked like someone had dropped a spider into an ink bottle, then let it scurry across the page – it was utter gibberish to him. “How am I… where do I….what is this?” he asked the space around him, Copper looked up responding to the tone in James’ voice and realised there was nothing he could offer other than rest his head on James’ knee and look adoringly up at him as if to say “I know you can do it, just give it a try”.
The ‘ping’ of the tumble dryer signalled its completion of the laundry, another thing James had needed to become adept at, and it seemed as good an excuse as any to procrastinate the seemingly insurmountable task in front of him. He got up and with Copper in tow wandered out to the kitchen to attend to the bedding.
“Oh, come on!” exclaimed James. “How does this happen, what’s with duvet covers hiding the rest of the laundry inside themselves?” Copper looked over at the lump of bedding being held aloft and wondered if this would come his way and become a snuggly play thing or addition to his own bed. James wrestled with the tangled mass and finally extracted the sheet and pillow cases, two towels and a wayward pair of jeans. And, inevitably, a single sock. He scooped the whole lot up and took it upstairs to the bedroom, Copper trotting at his heels.
“This is how it’s going to be now, isn’t it?” he said, shaking the duvet cover so he wouldn’t have to iron it. He often spoke aloud at home, these days, as if Laura was still there to listen, and he wasn’t quite sure how the habit had developed. There were framed photos of the two of them all over the house, and a hundred other reminders of her which sometimes made it oddly easy to forget she was gone. “This is how it’s going to be – random odd socks and being rubbish at the piano. And always being the one to change the bed.”
Copper waited obediently on the carpet while James stuffed the pillows into their cases. For a while, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep on Laura’s side of the bed. Then, for months, he did it every night, with Copper on his feet for company. He was more or less in the middle now, most of the time. It was still lonely, but he no longer actively dreaded the nights – reaching out in a half-asleep state towards someone who wasn’t there any more; the dreams and nightmares; waking up and remembering all over again that she was dead.
It’s time to make dinner, said Alexa. James had set that notification to come on daily, after longer than he wanted to admit of barely eating, let alone eating properly. Working from home meant he didn’t have the structure of leaving the office, driving home, walking through the front door and starting the evening – it was easy to forget the time, especially now it got dark so early. And his thoughts didn’t turn automatically to cooking, because there was no one but him to cook for. Once Christmas was over with, he thought, he’d probably dig the slow cooker out and make a New Year’s resolution to try eating a bit more healthily. For the moment, it was pies and burgers and pasta – something easy to keep him going each evening.
Alexa, play some piano music. Might as well have a bit of inspiration while he put his chicken burger and chips in the oven. He didn’t recognise what Alexa chose for him, but it was soothing and gentle. He turned the oven on and wandered through to the living room to light a couple of candles.
He glanced over at the piano again. James had always gone to YouTube first when he wanted to learn something, and had fixed all sorts in the house that way without needing to get in a professional. Why spend money when I can do it myself: it had taught him a lot, thinking like that, and it was satisfying when he mended something successfully. But the piano – well, it was going to be a pretty solitary instrument anyway, wasn’t it, unless he developed a taste for duets and found someone willing to bash away on the keyboard alongside him. Maybe there was a teacher in the village.
He poured himself a glass of red, settled down at the table and Googled Alnmouth piano teachers on his phone. “Hmm… probably should add ‘adult beginner’ to that, shouldn’t I?” he said to Copper who was lying on his back, paws in the air. He did so, then peered at the results. Man or woman? I’m not sure how quickly I’m going to pick this up. Who’s likely to be more patient? That’s a bit sexist, actually, isn’t it. Maybe just the nearest one for now, and see what they’re like?
Ruth Thompson, 0.8 miles from your location. Adult beginners a speciality. Click here to email Ruth.
By the time he’d finished eating dinner and was in front of the fire with a topped-up wine glass and Copper next to him on the sofa, a reply had arrived in his inbox. She’d love to give him a trial lesson to see how he liked the piano. How did next Thursday sound? He emailed back to confirm, then put his phone on the coffee table.
“Book Club on Wednesday, piano lesson on Thursday… this is starting to sound dangerously like a social life, isn’t it?” he said to Copper, who blinked and cocked his head on one side. Good to have got something arranged. And if it turned out the piano wasn’t for him, it was only a trial lesson. He clicked the TV remote and settled down for the evening.
James called in at The Schooner on Saturday evening during his dog walk, knowing that Joan would be there, because she always was. He found her in a corner with a friend, playing rummy and shrieking with laughter. “Join us!” she called as she saw him approaching. “Bill – same again for us, and a beer for the young man!” Bill grinned in his wife’s direction and fitted a glass under the tap. James sat down, Copper flopped onto the floor and Joan’s friend reached over to stroke him.
“Right, then. If I’m to keep coming along on Wednesdays, I’ll need to know what book we’re reading. I know it’s secretly just an excuse for drinking and carousing, but I feel like I ought to look at the blurb on the back, at least.” Bill put the drinks down on the table, laid a hand on James’ shoulder and leaned down to slip Copper a treat from his pocket.
“Cheers!” The three of them clinked glasses. “Pity you didn’t ask me that a few days ago – had a spare copy over there. Gave it to another new member last night.” Joan gestured with her wine glass towards the bookcase next to the fire, where locals donated and borrowed whichever titles they fancied.
“I’ll get it on Kindle, Joan,” James said. “No space for any more books in our house – Laura made sure of that.” It felt good to say her name out loud, and Joan smiled and squeezed his arm. “We loved having her in Book Club, you know. Always had something to say. Never a dull moment with her around.”
It was interesting, James thought, walking home after just the one beer, how much of a difference it made to his mood – being out, being with people, even being touched by them. A friendly hand on a shoulder or an arm: it helped. Laughing did, too, and being part of something. He’d get the book off Amazon, read the first chapter and see how it went. Funny how even his ability to focus on a story had been dismantled; he’d had no problem sitting in front of the fire for an evening, two winters ago, and devouring half a novel in one go.
Alexa, turn on the lights. He went through to the kitchen, let Copper off his lead and opened the fridge. For the first time that he could remember, he felt irritated to find there wasn’t much inside it beyond milk and cheese and a few salad bits. Pizza out of the freezer it is, then. Could cook on Monday – get an Ocado, maybe?
By Wednesday evening, James had read far more of the book than he’d expected to. Something about the story – simple, warm, deceptively clever – drew him in and took him back to it every spare moment he had. He put the dishwasher on after an early dinner, pulled on a hat and walked the half-mile to the pub with Copper at his side.
“Jim!” Bill shouted in welcome as he pushed the door open. “Beer? You’re a bit early – Joan’s upstairs putting her face on.” There were guffaws from everyone at the bar. “Make yourself comfortable – I’ll bring it over.”
James led Copper over to the book club corner, where the nuts and crisps were already in bowls on the table. No old lady drinks, nor any old ladies – it was a bit early yet, as Bill had said – but there was someone he didn’t recognise sitting there, someone about his age with hair exactly the colour of Copper’s, absorbed in a copy of what James had been reading since Saturday night.
July 2023
“Wake me up, before you go-go…” sang Laura at the top of her voice, as the warm summer evening air rushed in through the open window of her old Triumph Herald. What a day! Breakfast in bed, courtesy of her of course, sipping coffee while watching the day unfold on TV. Then a nice walk along the coast with Copper, letting him get completely soaked in the sea – knowing very well he will need a shower when home. Then, a meet up with the girls for lunch, a mooch about in the shops in Newcastle then home.
She didn’t usually drive to the city, but this was going to be a big shop, and there was nothing more annoying than trying to get a decent haul onto the train; worse still if it was busy like it had been last time – bags all over the place and the obligatory ‘tuts’ from all around.
Lunch had been amazing, that restaurant her old uni friend had recommended was out of this world, and even though she was by no means a vegetarian their pasta with thin strips of carrot and courgette with mushrooms was fantastic. Since she had taken Beatrice out (that was the name she had given to her car when she bought her – James could never really accept that cars needed names), there was only soda and lime in the glass today.
And what a catch up too, the four of them hadn’t got together for what felt like an eternity, so the conversation flowed like a mountain stream.
Walking back to Eldon Square, laden with bags Laura couldn’t stop smiling, going over the utter nonsense of lunchtime banter and dealing with the mounting impatience of having to wait until she got home to try on her new stuff, that special little number in particular, she had a feeling it might ignite a bit of a spark in James.
Things hadn’t been great between them for a few months, he just seemed withdrawn from time to time. Rather than confront him about it, she would often leave him be and hope it would diffuse over a few days like it usually did – it was always only work related anyway and these days would blow over and be replaced by better ones. But this time it had been going on for a few weeks, and much as she wanted to, she didn’t feel she wanted to ask when he would cheer up nor did she really enjoy his indifference. So she decided that perhaps a different approach was needed, so found herself a nice dress, nothing too racy, they lived in Alnmouth after all, but figure hugging and revealing enough.
When Laura got back to her car she wished she had bought the convertible one she had seen instead, as it would have been perfect today. As it was, she piled the bags into the boot, climbed in and opened the windows.
The old engine whirred into life, she slid her favourite mix CD into the stereo and left the car park on the hour and a half drive back home – it was definitely car-e-oke time!
It was as she passed the BP garage at North Seaton on the A189 she saw it, but barely had time to process what she saw before it hit her.
The van had been coming along Newbiggin Road and according to the police report had collided with the side of Laura’s car at a speed in excess of 70mph. The driver was driving too fast to react to the roundabout, and didn’t see the dark blue Triumph Herald until it was too late, he didn’t even react fast enough to put his brakes on.
By the time the ambulance arrived on scene, it was too late. The car had simply folded on impact, the age and construction proving no match for the force of a 3.5 tonne vehicle hitting it square on the side. Even if Laura had survived the impact, her injuries were so extensive there would have been little hope.
After the police had left, James just stared at the floor, unseeing. He didn’t cry, at least not at first. But when he started, he felt he couldn’t ever stop. The feeling of despair, utter and complete devastation, the unparalleled pain just engulfed him and refused to let him out.
He lost whole days, simply unable to cope with the reality that one moment she was there, and the next… just… gone! Copper was the only thing that kept him on the cusp of sanity, because despite not eating himself, he always made sure Copper had food and water, and walked each day – but he just wasn’t there. He wasn’t able to manage.
After the first week and a deluge of sympathy cards and messages, all of which made him want to shout at the world to leave him alone, he knew he needed to deal with the inevitable funeral. Thankfully, Laura’s father had been able to organise most of it, but it was time to face his new reality.
They scattered her ashes around Queen Margaret’s Cove, one of her favourite places to visit, and once the rest had left, James and Copper stood silently in the warm summer rain and watched the sea take away his wife and best friend for good.
Autumn 2024
Wednesday night proved to be more of a success than James had thought, he had actually enjoyed the book and was eager to discuss the story and what it had meant to him. He realised though, the whole process had more meaning than just talking about a book, and it took a little longer than perhaps it should have done to realise that there was something quite poignant about the choice of the title.
He had thought that a book called ‘The Language of Flowers’ would immediately send him to sleep, but with each page he found something profound happening to and within him. It wasn’t letting go of Laura, it was recognising that, in time, it was OK to move on. “In time, Copper – in good time,” he said while reading one evening, slipping into a reverie of good times, BBQs with friends, talking until the sun rose, laying on the beach at dawn making sand angels – she was one in a million.
The book also helped him see that there can be a future outside of merely existing. Had it not been for Copper, he knew very well he would have joined Laura in the cove that day. Every fibre of his being ached for her for so long afterwards, his chest hurt with the emptiness inside him. He would spend his nights with a pillow, her pillow held so tightly to himself he was afraid he would break it. He breathed her in from the pillow, her clothes strewn across the bed, anything that may bring her scent back, until he couldn’t smell her anymore, anywhere.
He’d wanted to hide all the pictures around the house, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He felt that she was watching him and it just wasn’t right.
But step by step, day by day, Copper would tug at his socks while James lay across the sofa, and they would walk along the coast, up through the village and back to their home, just the two of them.
Relaxing in the company of the book club, he was aware he was relaxed for the first time he could recall. He noticed her hair first. Such a rich dark red, a soft wave as it cascaded over her shoulders. He saw her long, slender fingers and the gentle way she sipped at her drink. He tore his attention away to focus on the book and his drink, not really sure if he wanted to allow his attention to be diverted by someone, not yet. But he couldn’t take his eyes off her, and when she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, he felt something inside that hadn’t been there for a very long time.
James had hesitated to go over and sit down when he first saw her, sitting in the corner concentrating on the book. I’m not sure I’ve got the energy to make small talk with a stranger. But she happened to glance up, and there was Copper out in front of him wanting to investigate, and it was too late to pretend he hadn’t seen her and turn away in search of someone familiar – Bill, maybe, back at the bar. She smiled a little at him, then noticed Copper and held out her hand to him. He sniffed it obligingly and she leaned forward to make eye contact with him. Her hair touched his for a moment, then she pushed it off her face and James could breathe again.
He pulled out the nearest chair and sat down. Copper didn’t – he was still inspecting this new person, with all signs indicating approval. She placed her upturned palm under his chin and stroked his wavy ear with the other hand. He likes you, James thought, then realised he’d said it out loud.
“You’re beautiful, aren’t you?” the woman said to Copper, who gazed at her devotedly. James hoped he wasn’t doing the same. Quick – think of something banal to say about the book. Can’t actually remember a single thing about it just at the moment, though.
She looked back up at James and Copper lowered his tail to the ground, satisfied that he’d met a friend. James reached for a treat to give him, which delayed the need for conversation a little longer. Come on – don’t be ridiculous. All you need to do is ask her name and what she thinks of the book. Maybe even offer the same information back. Not rocket science, is it?
The moment was interrupted by Bill, who touched James on the shoulder and put a pint glass in front of him. “Here you go, Jim. Evening, Ruth. Enjoy the meeting!” He patted Copper’s side with that comfortable confidence which came naturally to some people, and returned to the bar which was filling up with people now it was nearly eight o’clock.
The woman looked at James with what he recognised as shyness. “You’re Jim, then?”
“Well – it’s James, really. I seem to have become Jim here, which is fine, but…”
Get a grip on yourself. “And you’re Ruth?”
She nodded with a smile which didn’t quite reach her eyes. “This is my first time here. Have you been before? I only started reading the book at the weekend.”
James was about to reply, but Joan appeared behind him and placed both hands on his shoulders. “It’s my young man! You came! Well done – nice to see you. How’re you getting on with the book?” She gave Ruth a cheerful smile. “Hello, pet. Nice to see you too. Got a drink? No? Bill!”
And they both got swept up in a gale of enthusiasm about the book – isn’t it wonderful… doesn’t she write beautifully! I couldn’t put it down – which provided what James needed to pause for a minute. He occupied his mouth with beer and gratefully let Joan fill what might otherwise have been an awkward silence. She chatted as others came over to join them, setting their drinks and paperbacks down on the table, pulling off hats and gloves and stooping to stroke Copper.
James felt better once the meeting was under way – it was as noisy and entertaining as last week, and Joan wasn’t the only one who’d had a couple of drinks already. He sipped his slowly, knowing that Bill would provide another before the first was at an end: probably best not to humiliate myself by having one too many and saying something I’ll regret, eh? It seemed to be the sort of group where those who wanted to spoke up, and those who didn’t were allowed to sit quietly and listen. James remembered, suddenly, a teacher of his from years ago who’d always made a point of calling on the students who hadn’t raised their hands. James could participate more in class, his school reports often said. Nothing’s changed, then. But at least there’s no pressure here. It’s just good to be out, and to have a bit of company.
They talked and laughed until gone half past nine, then a few people started saying their goodbyes, calling see you next time! and stepping out into the misty night air. Ruth was still in the corner with most of her second drink left. James hesitated. It’s late, and I’ve got work tomorrow. Maybe this wasn’t her cup of tea and I won’t see her again. Come on – just talk to her a bit more, then you can escape and have a glass of wine at home in front of the fire.
He shifted himself into a closer chair and smiled at Ruth in what he hoped was a relaxed way. “Did you enjoy that?”
She folded her hands together on the table and smiled back. Now he was nearer, he could see what colour her eyes were. They’re the same as the sea. Laura’s had been, too.
“Yes, I did, thank you. It was fun, wasn’t it? I’ve not lived here very long – it’s been really good to get to know a few people tonight. How about you?”
James could sense Copper settling down on the floor. You’re in no hurry to go anywhere, are you? he thought, amused that Copper was supporting his attempts to make conversation, even if it was only in the hope of more treats for good behaviour. She’s asked you a question. Don’t get distracted by those beautiful eyes – give her an answer.
“I’ve lived here for ages, but I’ve only just joined book club. Once Joan’s got your name down, it’s impossible to wriggle out of it.” He grinned so she knew he meant it affectionately, and was surprised, suddenly, by how much more relaxed he felt. “How are you settling in?”
Ruth seemed to hesitate. “Okay, thank you, I think. Got lots still to do in my house, but it’s getting there.” She reached for her drink. James wondered whether she was trying to finish it quickly so she could leave, but she took a small sip and put the glass back down.
“What do you do?” James asked, then berated himself silently for asking such a generic question. Oh, for goodness’ sake. Can’t you do better than that? But it seemed to light Ruth up, somehow. She sat up straighter and pushed her hair behind her ear.
“I’m a piano teacher. How about you?”
Ruth. Ruth Thompson, 0.8 miles from your location, adult beginners a speciality.
James only realised he was staring when she tilted her head and said what’s wrong? He collected himself and forced a smile. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s only… I think… I’m your new piano pupil. Didn’t realise. I emailed you at the weekend. It’s my first lesson tomorrow.”
He was aware that it had come out in a stumbling rush, but Ruth seemed not to mind. The smile reached her eyes this time. “That’s amazing – how funny. Imagine if we hadn’t realised till I turned up at your house!”
James reached down to Copper for reassurance. “I’m warning you now – I’ll be rubbish. Got no idea what I’m doing. I hope you’re patient.”
Ruth laughed, and it was light and musical. “Don’t worry. Please – you’ll be fine. The main thing is that you enjoy it. You’ve got a piano at home, then?”
Way to go, Jimbo! he thought to himself as he left that evening and walked back home. She was not what he was expecting at all, the piano teacher – she was supposed to be an octogenarian with a twin-set and pearls and a grey bun, not flowing auburn hair and eyes you could…
Stop! he told himself. Copper looked up at him as they reached the front door, a look that James couldn’t really read. “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” he said to Copper’s searching look. Laura’s eyes locked onto his from the photo as he entered the hallway. He unclipped Copper’s lead and looked at her for long moments…taking in her beautiful features, the smile and how it gave her dimples, her hair and her slender neck. He sighed deeply. “It’s just a piano lesson, pal” he told Copper, or was it himself he was telling?
James picked up his phone and opened his email app. “I’ll just cancel tomorrow, make some stuff up about work or illness or – I don’t know. I just don’t think I can do it”.
He fell onto the sofa and sighed again. “It’s just a piano lesson, Lors, nothing more. And I know, she’s at your…the book club too, and I …. well. I’ll just let her know I can’t do the lesson tomorrow and then make my excuses to Joan about the book club, it’s fine”.
It was when he noticed Copper staring at him, head to one side that he realised all this had been said aloud, and there was that look again. What was that? “What is it, Copper? What’s this about?”
His friend leapt onto the sofa and laid his head onto his lap. “You’re right, it’s OK, isn’t it,” he said to his adoring companion, who clearly liked their new social life, and one aspect of it in particular.
James deliberately tried to distract himself that evening with TV and a couple more drinks, and was mostly successful, although his mind kept surging back to Laura and Ruth and the piano lesson. The counsellor had encouraged him, months ago, to notice the thoughts which entered his head, acknowledge them, and sit with them for a while. At first, he was sitting constantly with regret and guilt and relentless, repeated thoughts of why? and how could things have been different? and what am I supposed to do with the rest of my life? And that was perfectly normal, the counsellor reassured him. Just notice, acknowledge and sit with it for a while.
He knew he was worrying too much about the first lesson. It could be the first and last lesson, if that seemed the best – safest – option for now. Ruth was coming to his house, which quietened his anxiety a little. Copper would help break the ice, just as he had last night.
Although he didn’t sleep well, James felt better the next morning. He made himself a coffee, sat at the table and looked up at the dresser where he’d dumped a bunch of Ocado bananas earlier in the week. They were ripening fast. Could make a cake, maybe? Banana bread’s not hard. Try and be a decent host for once, Jimbo.
It was a busy day at work, although there was enough time to get the cake baked, and James finished a bit early so he could tidy and clean before dinner. He lit the fire, ran a hoover round and made sure the bathroom was fit for a guest to use. Alexa, play some piano music. This piece, he recognised. Moonlight Sonata. Beethoven. Maybe, one day…
With fifteen minutes to go, James was pacing the kitchen and losing confidence again. Copper seemed to sense how nauseous he was starting to feel, and butted gently against him, which helped. He filled the kettle and clicked it on. The doorbell rang.
He looked down at Copper, who gazed back steadily. “No backing out now, is there?” Alexa, stop.
Ruth smiled as he opened the door to her. “Did you walk round?” he asked once they’d exchanged hellos, standing aside to let her in. She pulled her hat off and nodded. “Needed the fresh air. It’s a beautiful evening. How’s your day been?”
James thought, as he made drinks and cut slices of banana cake to have before the lesson started, how much less shy Ruth seemed than she had the night before. Maybe this was just the territory she felt comfortable in: a piano and one person at a time. Good thing one of us is feeling relaxed. Copper was, as expected, busy charming Ruth in the living room while he got the refreshments. Team effort.
“So, then,” Ruth began as James put the drinks and cake on the coffee table, “have you ever played the piano before? What do you know about it already?”
James sent his mind back several decades to school music lessons, without retrieving much of use. “Um. Not much, to be honest. I could probably still find middle C, but even that’s a bit doubtful. Best if we start from the beginning, really. Just assume I know nothing – won’t be offended.”
“That’s fine! We’ll do that, then. Do you want to get started? Keep the cake to look forward to at the end?”
So they took their mugs over to the piano, James on the stool and Ruth on a kitchen chair he’d brought through. She opened a notebook and placed it in front of him on the stand.
“So, middle C…?” She grinned at him, which was a surprise. He looked down at the keyboard. There’s a pattern, isn’t there. Three black notes, two black notes and middle C’s somewhere in between. He hedged his bets and put a finger on a possible note.
“Brilliant,” Ruth said warmly. “That’s it. Have a look here,” and pointed at the notebook. “This is a staff – does that look familiar? Treble and bass clef? Treble’s for your right hand, bass is for your left hand. Right hand mostly plays the higher notes…” and she explained the basics in a way that James got straightaway. He remembered bits from years back: Every Good Boy Deserves Football. Semibreves, minims, crotchets and quavers.
Ruth spread her hands out and held them up. “Your thumb’s number one, and you work your way outwards to five, which is your little finger. If you put your right thumb on middle C – that’s it – and relax your hand…” here she put her own hand on the piano near his to show him, and James couldn’t breathe for a moment, like when her hair had mingled with Copper’s in the pub, “…like that. Keep your wrist level and make your fingers do the work. Play those five notes from thumb up to five and back down again.” She demonstrated, then sat back so he could do the same.
“Perfect!” He took the opportunity for a swig of coffee. “And now with the other hand, starting on middle C with your thumb and moving down to your fifth finger… well done. This is how it looks on the two staves.” Ruth pointed to the notebook. That’s what you’ve played with your right hand. Do you know the letter names of those five notes?”
Every Good Boy Deserves Football. “So… must be C, D, E, F and G.”
It struck him, as he did the same for the left hand, that part of being a specialist in adult beginners was knowing how to encourage in the right way. It’s different with children. Give them a sticker and lots of enthusiastic words and they’re happy. For adults, it’s more about hope, isn’t it?
“So now, can you play all the other Cs on the keyboard?” Look for the pattern of three and two. James identified them all from bottom to top, feeling more triumphant than he thought he probably deserved. “Great – and all the Gs?” This is easier than I thought it would be.
“Have a break – finish your coffee!” Ruth said, and James gratefully wrapped both hands round his mug and drank. “What do you think so far?”
He nodded with his mouth full of coffee. Once it was swallowed, he smiled. “Some of it’s coming back to me. I’m glad you’re patient.”
“In some ways,” Ruth said, “it’s much harder to learn as an adult than a child. You’re doing really well already, and I think I’m starting to understand your style of learning.” That makes one of us. Who’d’ve thought I had a style of learning? Didn’t exist when I were a lad.
“So, do you want to do a bit more?” James put his mug down on the floor. “Absolutely. These two notes must be A and B, then?”
They carried on until it had been half an hour, and James realised at the end that he no longer felt sick. Copper got up and trotted over to the piano, looking between them expectantly. Ruth laughed and James rolled his eyes. “It’s a miracle he’s not helped himself to the cake behind our backs. More tea?”
They went through to the kitchen and James got clean mugs out of the cupboard. Alexa, play some Beethoven piano music.
James was only dimly aware of the quiet orchestral introduction over the noise of the kettle, as he fetched the milk and dipped a spoon into the jar of decaf. Could do with a better night’s sleep tonight, really. He made both drinks and took them over to the table where Ruth was sitting. “There you go. What are we listening to?”
He didn’t hear Ruth’s answer. As he sat down, the solo piano part of a piece he couldn’t name, but had heard before many times, began a gentle, lyrical downwards scale and kicked James in the gut. One of Laura’s very favourites, a piano concerto she’d often listened to in the evenings when they were reading in front of the fire. He hadn’t heard it for more than a year, and to be doing so by accident, suddenly, brought pain he wasn’t ready for.
James dropped his face into his hands and clenched his eyes shut. A dozen thoughts coursed through his mind, far more than he could make sense of. Remembering how to silence Alexa was beyond him at that moment. Please – just make it stop.
James didn’t realise he was crying until Ruth touched his arm, which made him jump violently. James, she said in the gentlest voice possible, what’s upset you?
He couldn’t look at her. And somehow, the music faded into nothing. Thank God. He tried to take a breath, and almost succeeded. Copper’s head found its way onto his lap, and he reached down for reassurance. Someone else’s hand took his and held it.
James had no idea how long it was before he could speak again. The memories and agony stopped crashing quite so overwhelmingly through his head after a while. There was a tissue in his hand that hadn’t been there before, and he brought it to his face to deal with the tears. Copper was completely still under the table, silent with his head on James’s knee. And Ruth was still sitting next to him, her hand on his.
James risked a look at her. She looked steadily back at him without saying anything.
He tried hard to form a sentence which might explain. She wants to know what’s wrong. Everything’s wrong. Nothing can ever be right again, now that Laura’s gone. My life’s just wrong, and there’s not a thing I can do about it. And my feelings for Ruth are wrong, too, and I shouldn’t let her comfort me. But if I don’t, what then? Months more – years, even, of not letting anyone get close.
Ruth squeezed his fingers very slightly.
“James – what can I do to help you?”
It was almost ten o’clock before Ruth started walking back home. James had offered to accompany her – insisted, almost – but it was less than a mile along a well-lit main road so she wasn’t worried. And she needed a bit of time to process what had happened, and what she’d just learned.
She’d noticed the photo of James and Laura in the hallway as soon as she arrived, and there were plenty more in the living room and kitchen. There’d been no reason, anyway, to wonder whether or not James lived alone. But she hadn’t been in the village long enough for anyone to have said to her that’s James over there, and his wife died last year.
Now she thought about it properly, though, there was something in his eyes, his expression, his whole way of moving and being. Something she wished she’d questioned more deeply the evening before, when they first spoke after the book club meeting and he’d been so reserved and unsure of himself. But knowing, she told herself firmly, would not have made any difference. You didn’t ask any awkward questions or force him to talk about Laura. You didn’t say anything insensitive. There was no way of preparing for what happened next.
And then Alexa chose the Beethoven Adagio. Ruth wasn’t sure she believed in fate, but that music, its melody, the memories it evoked in him – well, hadn’t it helped, in a way? His pain and distress had shocked her, the sudden way it took hold of him before pouring out in a cascade of raw sorrow and grief. But now she knew about Laura, shock was replaced by relief – for James. To cry that way in front of a total stranger – he must have needed to.
What you can do, he said, replying to her question after quite a long time of silence, is listen to me talk for a bit, if you’re willing to do that? And if there’s one thing musicians ought to be able to do, it’s listen. Ruth was more than willing, so James talked, and she listened.
He spoke about Laura – what she was like, the things she was good at, how she and James had fitted together in life. He had been in tears again, describing what her death had done to him. And he told Ruth too about the loneliness, the guilt, his dread of the future. It was hard to hear, but she was really glad to have listened.
And then, after she’d made him another coffee to replace the cold one he hadn’t drunk, what now? That was what he was trying to work out, James said. Book club, piano lessons, long walks with Copper – and perhaps making a friend or two.
Do you make friends easily? James raised an eyebrow at her, which made Ruth laugh. “You do realise, though,” she said, with a hint of a challenge in her voice, “that we’ve only known each other about twenty-four hours. So that proves you’re good at making friends. Doesn’t it?”
He looked back at her in the same way he had after the book club meeting and said I’d really like us to be friends, actually.
She mulled the evening over for a while once she got home, sipping at a glass of water. That really wasn’t what she had expected at all, not that it wasn’t an eventful evening, but my goodness – the depth of sadness he is carrying.
It brought her mind back to the main reason she was living there and had been able to meet James, her breakup several months before.
Her best friend referred to it as her escape, how she had finally got away from the controlling and jealous partner she had shared her life with for seventeen years.
James was only the fourth piano student she had been able to bring herself to meet since then, and to meet a male student was a much bigger step than she had imagined.
It was his fault, her ex – who had, as her friend put it so well, never had her back. Early on in their relationship when she taught music at the school it was OK, other than his jibes about when she would get a proper job, and how did she manage being on holiday so often, but when she joined the orchestra and would go on tour periodically, the strains started to become more obvious.
He would be quite petty to start with, silly comments about going on jollies, and undermining her talent and desire to be part of something really creative, but it gradually got worse. With each year, he would become progressively more spiteful, so by the time she decided to offer one-to-one piano lessons, he was petulant in the extreme.
The lessons had started at their house because it was an environment she was comfortable in, but mostly where he also was, and could – so he said – be on hand to help if need be. She questioned his motives on this, knowing very well that he just wanted to make sure he was happy with who she was spending time with.
Eventually that situation became untenable for her, and some of the students wanted to learn at their home, so she started going to them. That was when things really escalated.
His jealousy was unbridled, and he made no attempt to mask it, he would be blatant in his accusations that she was clearly cheating on him, since she wanted to be out of the house so often.
His appalling narrow mindedness, ignorant comments of what self-respecting man would want to play the piano anyway? possibly to attempt to dissuade himself that anyone was actually worth having an affair with that played THAT THING!
After countless futile attempts to get him to see sense, to realise that this was what she wanted, that it was just about teaching this wonderful instrument, she arrived at the realisation that it would never stop, so she decided that she had to.
She removed all her adverts, closed down her lesson diary and gave up the orchestra. He had won.
But, even without teaching or playing on a regular basis, he still found ways to push her down, belittling everything about her, controlling when she could go out, and mocking who she chose to go out with, until she stopped that too.
It got to the point she couldn’t have male friends, certainly not socialise with them, and she knew something had to change. She was miserable and lonely, her outlet for music, creativity and happiness was gone and she couldn’t exist like this.
It was many more months, and what seemed like endless encouragement from her best friend, sending her links to teaching jobs miles away, and details of houses that looked idyllic because he would never be there.
Leaving was still very difficult, not because she had feelings for him, but because he tried every underhand trick to try to make her stay, piling guilt on her, that this was her fault, that he was just trying to protect her, how ungrateful she was, but she had heard it all too many times.
Ruth had always been shrewd when it came to money, and the lessons had given her a reasonable fund, and what better time to use it than to take a closer look at those houses.
Alnmouth had looked very picturesque, and there was a job for a music teacher at a nearby school, so it was definitely worth a look.
As much as she loved the lessons, that may still be a step too far. He had taken away her confidence and that was what had hurt her the most.
But tonight, she thought as she placed her empty glass in the sink, a sliver of that had returned, in the mostly unlikely way.
She thought of James, his tear-strewn face and the despair in his voice. He’s lost such a lot. All that happiness they gave one another. I wonder what that’s like.
And there was strength in him, alongside the despair. He’d made a difference that evening and last night, and probably didn’t realise it. For the first time in a long while, the piano felt simple for her. Uncomplicated. And there’d been a connection made between two people who needed it, in their different ways.
Of course, she hadn’t told James anything about who and what she’d run away from. It was clear he needed to talk about Laura, and about himself, and she wanted to listen. But at his front door, after more than two hours of conversation, it was him who reached out to touch her hand. Thank you, he said quietly. That helped.
James closed the front door, sat down on the mat and leaned back. Copper padded over to him, with that look again. “I know,” he said, stroking his best friend’s head. He sat there, not noticing the cold air creeping in from the edge of the letterbox, just thinking.
He tried hard to rationalise the thoughts going through his mind – it’s just a piano lesson, it’s just a book club – but there was something else. James was exhausted, too – the evening had gone in a direction he hadn’t considered, and the emotional outpouring had left him spent. The vulnerability he had shown Ruth, after hardly any time together, was extraordinary. The only other person he had opened himself up to that much was the psychologist.
His mind was a maelstrom of confusion, there was guilt mixed with the vulnerability, how could he have let Ruth in so soon, and so close? Why did a piano lesson turn into a meltdown?
He let Copper out into the garden while rubbing his temples, this had been a longer evening than he’d expected it to be, and he was feeling more tired than he could remember being in a long while. With Copper safely in his bed, James went upstairs to prepare for sleep. It took no time to come, almost the second his head hit the pillow.
With the wintery sun streaming through the window, James woke and squinted at the new day. Copper was, as expected, laying across the foot of the bed having crept up over night, and they both drank in the light.
During his usual morning walk, James continued to go over the thoughts and feelings in his mind. He thought of Laura, of their time together, but more of their time apart. These 18 months, nearly 19, had been hard for him, he had become reclusive and reverted to his workaholism that Laura had managed to get him away from. The book club, and the pub crowd had really lifted him out of it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that the people who knew Laura and him would be keeping her in their minds when they saw him.
It wasn’t sympathy he was thinking of, more the connection between them that would always prevail.
It became clearer over the next few days that the feelings of guilt were not just his thoughts of moving on, and how that may affect his memories of Laura, but more that nagging feeling that he would be letting down those in the village that had been so much a part of Laura’s life. But what had also began to crystallise in his mind was that there was clearly a connection between him and Ruth. He needed some time to really clear his head, so on Sunday he took Copper on a long walk along the coast.
As they walked up the path to the village, onto Marine Road, he saw Joan coming out of Hindmarsh Hall and was struck with a strong feeling in his chest, a combination of guilt and worry. As he watched Joan walking along the road towards him, he realised that it was her that he had been thinking of, the voice of the village, the one who runs the book club, the one who brought him in from the cold and made him realise he was just as much a part of the place as Laura had been. But more than that, he realised it was Joan he felt he was letting down, just by having thoughts of Ruth.
“Hello you two, what a beautiful morning, don’t you think?” said Joan as she caught up with James and Copper, as they passed the village hall. They talked about the cold, the potential of snow over the coming week, the new menu at the hotel and how Bill was so pleased with his new slippers. Just as James was about to continue, Joan reached across and put her hands over his, her eyes twinkling.
“She really is lovely, isn’t she.” James for a moment had nothing to say, he was taken aback by the look in her eyes and her words. “Ruth, sweetheart, she’s such a lovely girl,” she clarified, clearly seeing his confusion.
James stuttered a response, “yes, she was…is, yes a very patient tutor, too,” making sure he made a reference that she was there just to teach him the piano, but could feel himself going red. Jesus, it’s worse than being at school he thought to himself.
It wasn’t until he got home and lit the fire that he realised what Joan was saying. She must have known about the lesson, and must have seen them staying longer after the book club during the week, and she’s no fool.
Joan knew he needed to flourish, knew he had to be able to find a way through the darkness he had been enveloped in for so long, so when Ruth moved into the village and she got to know her a little more, it was obvious, at least to Joan, that here was the perfect opportunity, so she had invited Ruth to join the book club.
Knowing that this would be a safe place, no pressure for either of them and a great way to bring two like minded people together, she had set something in motion that evening, that was to bring hope and light back into two people.
As James warmed his feet by the fire, and Copper gently snored, he smiled. It wasn’t just the fire, but a warmth began to spread within him, something he never thought he would feel again. He picked up his phone and opened the email app.
How about a second round of tea and cake one evening this week?
He assumed she’d be teaching, but a reply came back almost immediately.
Lovely. Shall I bake this time? Tuesday?
If you’re sure you can tolerate me for three nights in a row, that sounds great.
James gave Copper two extra-long walks on Tuesday to compensate for being left alone. It felt odd, going out on his own in the evening. He stood for a moment on Ruth’s doorstep, instinctive thoughts of what the hell am I doing? competing in his mind with oh, come on, Jimbo. It’s just tea and cake and conversation with a friend. He battled briefly with the temptation to turn away and walk back home to Copper, a log fire, a drink… and loneliness, a tiny voice asserted itself in his mind. Ring the doorbell.
He did, finally. It was a beautiful cottage on the outside, with a wreath on the front door. Oh yes – it’s December. He had barely acknowledged Christmas the year before – his first without Laura. She’d always loved it, insisting upon a real tree and fairy lights everywhere. It was nothing – impossible – for him without her, so he simply pretended it wasn’t happening. And if he’d given any thought at all to the coming Christmas, it was just that there’d probably be something on at the pub at some point. Banana cake was all very well, but he wasn’t sure he could make a decent job of cooking Christmas dinner yet.
He saw, as Ruth opened her front door, that she had a tree up already – a beautiful one, draped with the same warm white lights Laura had always insisted on. Light has to be warm. The bright ones look awful, he remembered her saying one year, after he’d come back from Homebase with the wrong thing.
James wished, as she welcomed him in and closed the door on the freezing winter air, that he’d brought something to give her. Flowers, maybe. One of those red plant things Laura always bought at this time of year – what were they called? Stop being ridiculous and relax, would you. It occurred to him suddenly, hanging his coat up, that one reason he felt tense was because Copper wasn’t there.
He smelled cake – chocolate cake, this time. And coffee, which was already on the table. “Make yourself at home,” Ruth called through from the kitchen, and he looked around at the room before sitting down. Her piano was tucked away under the stairs, and a piece of sheet music was open on the stand. James peered at it. Adagio cantabile. Beethoven.
“How long have you lived here?” he asked as Ruth came in with the teapot and a plate of mince pies. They sat down opposite one another.
“Since the summer. You don’t have milk, do you?” She was pouring drinks and cutting cake, and James watched her face while she did so. He leaned back comfortably on the sofa and investigated the room further. Lots of books. Warm, calming colours. And pictures on the walls – but no photographs.
“That Beethoven piece looks difficult,” he said, gesturing towards the piano. She handed him his coffee and pushed the cake and mince pies nearer to him on the table. “I keep hearing music Alexa chooses for me, and wonder whether I’ll ever be able to play it.”
Ruth tucked her feet up on the sofa. “You will. I think the key as an adult is focusing on the type of music you like listening to. Beethoven’s not everyone’s cup of tea.” She reached for a mince pie. “Is he yours?”
James thought for a moment. “Well, he was Laura’s. I’m not sure about mine.” His eyes strayed back over to the piano. “Is that an instrument case? What else do you play?”
“Clarinet,” Ruth said, “but not for a long time. Did Copper mind being left on his own tonight?”
Another subject change – that’s the second one now. She’s just as guarded as I am. Every bit as afraid of letting anyone close.
“Well,” James said, smiling, “he would’ve preferred to come and visit you. But I’ll bring him to book club tomorrow evening. How many nights a week do you teach?”
“Monday and Friday, and the weekends. Only you, so far, on Thursdays. I’ve done a bit of supply teaching here and there, but I’d love to find a permanent school if I can.”
James had an instinct that if he didn’t keep asking questions, Ruth wouldn’t keep talking. She seemed less relaxed than earlier, somehow.
“Where did you move from? Your accent’s not local.”
Ruth chewed her thumb. James had noticed, last Thursday when she was demonstrating how to play, that her fingernails were bitten, although she had beautiful hands.
“The Midlands. I’ve been there my whole life, apart from university.” She picked up the coffee. “Would you like more? Or I have some wine?”
Wine does have a tendency to open people up a bit.
“Just one would be lovely – thanks.” She went into the kitchen and came back with two glasses and a bottle of merlot. “Is red okay?”
“Perfect.” James moved closer to the fire. “Tell me what brought you here.”
Ruth was silent for a moment, pouring drinks for them both. She handed a glass to James, not quite looking him in the eyes.
“My relationship broke up,” she said quietly. “Decided it was best to put as much distance between us as possible.” She pushed her hair back and wrapped both hands around her glass.
“What happened?”
She pressed her lips together and James realised, too late, that she was trying not to cry. Oh, no. Shit. Now look what you’ve done.
He put his wine carefully down on the table. “Ruth, I don’t want to pressure you to talk if you’d rather not. But you listened to me last week – I’d love to do the same for you.”
She didn’t reply. Her eyes overflowed, tears dropping onto her lap. James went to sit next to her, gently took the glass and put an arm around her. After a moment he felt her shoulders relax, and reached for her hand with his. They sat, saying nothing, for minutes.
It took a while for Ruth’s breathing to steady. “I’m really, really sorry,” she whispered. “You don’t need this – you, of all people.”
James gave her fingers the slightest squeeze, just as she had with him a few days ago. She looked at him and he raised an eyebrow, which had made her laugh on Thursday and did so again.
“Do you not think,” he said, with his arm still around her, “that I understand a bit about loss?”
She leaned her head against his. “I know you do – of course you do. But it’s not the same. Laura died. Nothing could be worse than that.”
James considered what she’d said. “It’s not about it being worse, though. How I feel doesn’t invalidate how you feel. And I’ve been living with this for a year and a half. It’s all a bit more recent for you, isn’t it?” He reached onto the table for her glass. “Have some more.”
She took it, he picked his up too, and then the plate of mince pies, offering it to her. She laughed and took one. “As long as you have one too?”
“Definitely,” said James, “and will you tell me a bit more about what happened? Do I need to drive to the Midlands and have a stern word with someone?”
That made her laugh, too, although her eyes were welling up again.
“He just… it was… I just couldn’t put up with it any longer, in the end. Now I’m away from him, it’s hard to describe how things were. He was just so controlling. I couldn’t do anything without… well, it felt like I needed his permission to breathe.” She took a sip of wine, and James saw how rigid her hands were, cupped around the glass.
“That’s not good,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “How long were you together?”
Ruth stared into the fire. “Seventeen years,” she said eventually. “Since I was thirty. And it just feels like… well, a waste. We didn’t have children. Not that I would have wanted them with him, really. I just wish it hadn’t taken so long for me to find the… the courage to escape.” Her voice was shaking.
“You did, though, in the end.” James reached for her hand again. “That’s what matters. You escaped – you’re free of him. I’m not going to try and tell you he can’t hurt you any more, because it’s obvious he still is. But you’re safe now. Aren’t you?”
Ruth nodded slowly.
“You were safe with Laura, weren’t you?”
“Always,” James said, “and that’s because I knew she loved me. Wanted me to be, well – myself.” He shrugged. “Accepted me as I am, and loved me anyway. You know,” and he realised, suddenly, that he wasn’t crying and felt no need to, “I didn’t tell her I loved her the day she died. I’d been… preoccupied. Too busy at work. Probably neglected her, for weeks, and I’m sure she noticed. But she knew – I’m certain of it.”
Ruth was listening in silence, her eyes filling up again.
“And that safety she gave me – it felt like going home. It’s why Copper and I stayed here. I did think about escaping,” and he squeezed Ruth’s hand, so she knew he understood, “but that house, our home, this place…”
“It’s your refuge,” said Ruth quietly, and it wasn’t a question. “It sounds wonderful. Can’t remember what that’s like.” She squeezed James’s fingers in return.
“What about here?”
Ruth picked up her wine and took a sip, to buy herself some time. It was a while before she answered.
“Perhaps.”
The fire crackled approvingly. James reached for his glass and leaned back on the sofa.
“You know, Copper and I’ve found that walking really helps. Clears our heads, keeps us going. We do it every evening. Otherwise,” and he remembered, out of nowhere, the first miscarriage, and how the grief sat there inside his head for months afterwards, refusing to move or dissolve, while he concentrated instead on keeping Laura going, “it all builds up. Maybe you could come with us, sometimes?”
So the following evening, James and Copper walked to Ruth’s house – it was on the way to The Schooner – and collected her so they could all walk to book club together. James looked into the cottage while Ruth was putting her hat and gloves on, let his eyes rest on her Christmas tree, and thought maybe, this year, I could get one too and put some decorations up? Laura would have liked that. He was telling himself – no, reminding himself – increasingly often, nowadays, about things that Laura would have liked. Him listening to Beethoven. The fact that he was reading again, and not only that, but going to book club each week. I’m certain she’d approve of me eating properly, he told himself with a wry smile every time he made himself a meal. And I think – no, I know – that she and Ruth would have been friends.
Friends. Was that what he and Ruth were? Or something else? James had no idea. It almost didn’t matter, anyway – no need to put a label on it for now.
Ruth pocketed her keys and smiled at him, which made his stomach flip over. “Right – shall we go?”
Copper led the way, trotting happily out in front on his lead. James and Ruth walked close together, talking about the book and a short-term vacancy she’d seen at a local school for January. “Are you…” James started to say, but stopped abruptly when Ruth stepped on a patch of ice and almost slipped. He reached instinctively for her arm. “There’s often a puddle there – must have frozen. Are you okay?”
It seemed natural, after that, for him to put his hand in hers, and they walked the last half-mile or so with their gloved fingers laced together. And James realised, as they came in sight of the pub and spotted Joan through the window in the book club corner, that he wasn’t afraid any longer. Everyone knows I loved Laura – and everyone knows she’s gone. He could almost feel her presence behind him, encouraging him into the meeting. You’re having a great time at book club, you know you are. Ruth is, too. She’s lovely, by the way.
They didn’t stay long at the end of the meeting, and Joan squeezed his arm as they left. “Night, pet. Night, Jim. Lovely to see you both. Are you at the festival on Saturday?”
“Hopefully, yes – see you there,” James said, waving goodbye to Bill and stepping back to let Ruth go first. It was even colder than it had been earlier, more so because they’d been by the fire all evening.
“Would you like to go, on Saturday?” James asked, once they were out of earshot and walking home. “There’s Christmas trees and carols – right up your street, I expect? I’m warning you, though, I can’t sing.” He pulled a face, which made Ruth laugh. She reached for his hand, took it and held it.
“Definitely up my street. Sounds wonderful – love to.”
The weekend was the best James could remember for a very long time. While he tried his best with the carols, his voice really wasn’t matching his enthusiasm, which had come from nowhere and surprised him. But Ruth had been so encouraging and spending time with her made a world of difference to everything around him. He could see more clearly now, the fog of his despair had lifted and he felt as though he were waking up again.
By no means had he forgotten Laura, that wasn’t ever going to happen, but he felt her support for him moving on. The day he said goodbye to her on the cliff, he died too. His world had ended right there and then, and she wasn’t there to pick him up again and push him along.
His father had offered his usual religion-based advice, but James had clearly not been in the right frame of mind to accept it for what it really was, and caustically responded with, “and what has your religion brought you, other than guilt and fear?” Not his finest hour.
But these were memories of a different time, a time where he felt there was no hope and no future, that nothing good could ever happen. But there she was, her auburn hair being swirled around her face by the wind, holding her scarf down with mittened hands.
And the feeling of relief from the strangest of places when Joan as good as gave them her blessing. He had really struggled to understand the care and consideration she and Bill had shown him until recently.
So many things had begun to slowly fall into place as he sipped at a hot chocolate looking out at the falling snow, while Ruth tried to wrestle a Christmas jumper on to Copper. His future was here.
When the three of them returned to James’s house, Ruth noticed it straight away. In place of most of the photos that had adorned the walls were Graeme Hall prints of the local area. James had taken away so many images of him and Laura, the house felt different.
Rather than mention it, she simply walked over to him and took him into her arms. They held each other for what felt like forever, nothing else existing for that long moment.
Somehow, despite their hardships, their personal battles and pain, they had found each other and through small steps reached this point. There was no way she was going to let go now and from the arms wrapped so tightly around her, it was clear James felt the same way.
This was going to be a wonderful Christmas.
