Abbie's Gift

Abbie’s Gift

By

M. R. Thomas

Chapter 1.

As she sat on the edge of her bed and looked up at the sad pale reflection in the mirror, Abbie saw that she was no longer the youthful girl that people had always commented about. She felt old, drawn; she knew at that moment life was never going to be the same, ever. She stood up and walked downstairs.

In the next room, Rose stood in front of the dressing-table mirror; she looked at herself and saw a pale figure of ageing sadness, numbed by the events of recent days. She wanted to and needed to be strong, but inevitably feared that at any moment she would herself crumble and fall apart.  The day she had dreaded had now arrived, and she was full of fear and trepidation at what lay ahead.

She had dressed and put on a minimal amount of makeup, she was satisfied that she looked presentable to the world; after all, she felt that she had to be in the face of recent events. At that, moment the tears again began to well up in her eyes as she recalled the terrible anguish that Abbie, her only daughter, had suffered. So she had to be strong for her, today of all days, at least until it was over.

She left her handbag on the dresser thinking she would collect it later, and headed out of the bedroom and downstairs into the kitchen.  She saw the wall clock was showing 07.10 am. To her amazement, Abbie was already in the kitchen, tidy and smartly dressed for the day. Although she was wearing black, it did not make her look too sombre but Rose noticed how pale her daughter’s skin was against the dark cloth.

Was she always this pale? She thought, or was this due to the sudden and horrible grief that had befallen her? The fact Abbie was in the kitchen came as a surprise, but for Rose, the sight of a return to some functional normality cheered her, for Abbie had spent the past ten days locked in a world of sadness, despair and overwhelming grief.

“Hello Darling, it’s so good to see you up and looking so well,” Rose said, wondering if she had said the right thing or immediately put her foot in it.

Abbie went over to her mother, put her arms around her and kissed her tenderly on the cheek; her mother had indeed been a tower of strength and support to her over the past two weeks. A ‘thank you’ could never be enough to express her deep gratitude.

“Good morning Mum, you look nice, some tea?”

“Yes please,” said Rose, “I’m just surprised, I didn’t expect to see you so soon this morning.”

“Well I’m here, ready to face this day, I woke up and just realised that I had to, it needs to be done.”

Abbie was a 28 year-old …what?  What was she?  She wasn’t a widow technically as they hadn’t been married, but in her heart she felt it, as they had been totally committed.  The wedding was to have been next year, in the spring.

Peter had been taken from her, suddenly and unexpectedly, unfairly and without reason 10 days ago. Since then she had hardly eaten or slept, had not gone out or spoken to more than a few people, not dressed, become reclusive and totally disoriented, locked in an utterly pitch-dark tomb of mental and emotional turmoil and disbelief that no-one could penetrate.

Rose and Abbie sat quietly over their tea; for a while neither of them seemed able to, nor even wanted to speak. Outside the daylight was beginning to develop into a bright autumnal morning, and soon it would develop in to warmth.

“Mum, I just want to say thank you, for being here and taking care of me these past days, what would I have done without you?” Abbie said shaking her head. “Without you I don’t know how I’d have managed, and got here to today. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t know how I’ll get through today, it scares me, and I’m terrified, Mum.”

“You will get through it darling, Rose said, pushing back the hair from her daughter’s face, “you will, I’ll help you.”

For Abbie the tears came again but somehow she swallowed hard and fought them back. Over the past week, there had been more tears than words from Abbie, since Peter’s death she had seemed to implode with grief to such an extent that Rose had feared for her daughter’s sanity and her safety. Initially the friendly female GP had prescribed a sedative to help her sleep, and it had worked for a while, and been repeated for a few days. Recently Rose had thought when she had been lying in bed awake, herself unable to sleep and she had heard her daughter moving around in the house, restlessly wandering, she wondered if she was in fact searching for Peter. Rose looked her daughter in the eye and held her face tenderly “Just so you know today it’s all taken care of, I know that I’ve told you this before, but I’ve not been sure you’ve taken it in, so in case you’ve forgotten, it will all be fine”

“It’s OK Mum, thanks.”

“The service is at 11 am, followed by a buffet lunch at the pub, I’m expecting that people will start to arrive by 10 am, not sure really how many.  Peter’s parents have been fabulous they have been so capable even in their grief. Abbie, have you heard me?”

“Oh yes sorry, I drifted away again then.   I was just thinking again, why Mum, why?” Tears began to flow down Abbie’s face again. “Why did he have to die? Why not in 30 years or so after some form of life together? Why now, it’s so unfair.” Between the words Abbie’s sobs grew heavier and louder until they were shaking her whole body in the chair.

Rose held her tight, wishing, pleading to herself that she no longer had to listen to the sobs of “Why? Why?”

“I don’t know my love, we may never know or fully understand, but what I do know is that Pete loved you so much, you must always remember that”.

Eventually, after some minutes, the outpouring of overwhelming emotion ebbed away.

“I need to lie down”, said Abbie as she broke away from her mother and headed upstairs to be alone. Her mother stood in the kitchen; she felt bewildered and again washed out, she had not felt like this for many years since her own husband Eric, had died after a short illness in 2001.

That was 9 years ago already she thought, but time does heal, it’s just that you never forget.’

She put the kettle on again, and opened the door and stood and breathed in the fresh air from the garden. She was fearful that Abbie, despite her apparent show of strength and determination this morning, might not get through the day unscathed, and have the grief force her back, maybe even further into that black space between guilt and depression.

She thought of her daughter
,
such a wonderful young woman, a promising career and life ahead of her and now having to deal with this, it was totally unfair.  She dabbed her eyes with a tissue, no tears she thought, she would be strong, strong enough to get Abbie through this.

Abbie did sleep a while and when she woke, for a moment she was unsure of what day it was; then she remembered. She sat up and looked at the clock, it was 8.45 am, and she felt that she had been asleep for a very long time.  Had she in fact dreamt of Peter or was that just wishful thinking?

She briefly washed her face and again went downstairs.

As soon as she saw her mum, she began to say “sorry….”

Rose looked at her and smiled, “it’s ok love, it really is”.

Abbie didn’t know how to respond without crying again, so said nothing.

“More tea?” Her mum said.

The rest of the morning seemed to pass quickly and in a bit of blur but without any concentrated thought or activity.  Just past 10 am the doorbell rang; with a quick glance to Abbie that said ‘I’ll get it’, Rose was out of the room and at the door.

It was Peter’s brother and his wife, along with their parents. Abbie thought they looked as though they had aged 15 years since she last saw them a few weeks ago, but then she felt that she had too.

Greetings and formalities regarding loss and sorrow were again exchanged. Somehow, Abbie contained herself whilst Peter’s mother wept into her paper tissue for the loss of her youngest son. His father, who today seemed more physically stooped that usual, just seemed at a complete loss, either with her emotions or what to do in the face of experiencing his own.

Several sets of people arrived shortly after. Abbie felt in a daze; with some people she was unsure who they really were.

So many people in such a small place, she thought. Were they his friends, or people from his work? Some she thought she recognised, but others she was not sure if she knew them at all, even those who spoke to her and obviously knew her. She was unsure of everything. She needed air so went out of the back door into the garden. The morning had not yet become warm, and she felt a coolness washing over her; she immediately felt chilled but refreshed.

A few moments later, she was aware of somebody standing close behind her. She turned to see Peter’s father, looking sad and drawn

“I’m so sorry about all of this” he began, “we’re all grieving, but for you it must be so hard, it’s just so unfair on you.”

Abbie merely nodded her thanks.

“I want you to know that in the future at any time, we’re here for you in any way you need. Pete loved you, and well, so do we, you were so good together, we were so happy for you both.”

“Thanks” she said, putting her arms around him and kissing him on the cheek.  She‘d never before been that affectionate with Peter’s dad, he never seemed the type, but she knew this was genuine, she could feel it.

“Thanks” she said again.

She went back inside the house to find other people had now arrived. Were they friends or cousins she thought? Some spoke to her and offered words of comfort, others nodded quietly in her direction and smiled, seemingly lost for words.

That sense of dazed confusion washed over her again, along with a feeling of complete detachment from what was going on around her. She felt the room shift to the side and without trying or looking behind her she sat squarely on an arm of a chair. Immediately she regained a sense of balance that, at that moment, also brought back a realisation as to what was really happening.

It was Peter’s funeral. Peter, who had been her boyfriend, fiancé, partner, lover, husband-to-be. 10 days ago they had been a happy couple planning their future together -  the house they had bought; the plans they had for it; the idea of a simple family wedding next spring -  then he had simply gone out for a run and died.

He had been in excellent health, never ill at all. Several times each week he would usually run for 45 minutes to an hour, a mixture of road and cross-country.  Sometimes Abbie would go with him, but she struggled to keep up and felt that she held him back and prevented him having a good run, but on these occasions he was always patient and encouraging to her.

That day he didn’t return when she had expected him to. Initially she thought he’d probably decided to run a longer and further, but after an hour with no sign of him, she was becoming a bit concerned. This had not happened before.

‘What should I do, go looking for him?’ She’d wondered, her thoughts going round in a jumble. ‘But then where exactly?  The woods  would be getting dark by now… anyway he could come through the front door any moment laughing, apologising for being late and telling me where he’d been, who he’d met and stopped to chat to, and lost track of time. Or maybe the sole had come off his shoe, and he’d had to walk miles, that had once happened before’ she remembered. She’d really started to worry…because he had different shoes now…then, she remembered how he’d also had a puncture on his bike once and had to walk home 10 miles as he had no repair kit; that day he’d been late by almost 2 hours. She worried then of course, but this somehow felt different. She had asked him to take his phone or some cash, but he never did, he always said that it was too bulky to carry. She tried to remember the exact time he’d gone out, but couldn’t. He definitely should have been home by 3.30 pm, giving him enough time to shower and change before their tea. It was now 5.15 pm, so he was now almost 2 hours late - why? What was happening? Had he met someone and stopped for a chat? A woman maybe? ‘Don’t be daft’ she thought ‘not Peter. Was he hurt? Had he been mugged maybe?’

At 5.30 pm, she felt anxious enough to put on her coat and shoes.  The light was fading fast as she left the house and began to walk. She realised that she could easily go in the wrong direction, so she had to make a choice -   left or right? It was a compromise and a 50% chance she would go in the wrong direction. Turn left she thought, towards the woods. The streets were very quiet that Sunday evening, apart from the odd dog barking through the gloom of the fading light.  She passed the children’s playground which looked eerily derelict without any children; it was silent but not in a good way, it made her shiver and immediately she was aware of her pace quickening. She decided that she would walk a route that they had run together around the edge of the town, a distance of about 2 miles.  , She’d go as far as the woods then return home. She felt that was the safest thing to do, as even though they now lived in a nice location and area, she would not consider going into the woods after dark and alone.  Peter had always stressed that when out alone, running or otherwise, she had to take her safety seriously.  That’s why she had taken a 6-week self-defence course, just in case, and she recalled that it had certainly boosted her self-confidence.