Three-And-A-Half Heartbeats (20 page)

Huw flipped open the box and pulled out some cotton wool that he dipped into the bowl of water. He patted her face, chin and eyes; the cotton wool came away red. He squeezed it dry and dipped it into the bowl again, repeating the process before reaching once again into the tin and pulling out a bottle of TCP.

‘This might sting a bit.’

Grace kept her eyes closed.

He tipped the strong-smelling disinfectant onto a fresh piece of cotton wool and dabbed it around her forehead, hesitating as he got closer to the gash on her forehead. It was a curved cut about an inch in length.

‘Owwww!’ She screwed up her nose and scrunched her eyes even tighter, which helped ease the pain.

‘Sorry.’ He winced. ‘I’ve got some butterfly sutures, they might hold it, otherwise we’ll have to get you to casualty. I’m in no state to drive, Grace. I’m sorry.’

‘‘S’not your fault. And now it’s your turn to stop saying sorry.’

Huw peeled the sutures from their backing and pushed one over the cut and then another and another. She grimaced again.

‘We’ll see how these hold and if they aren’t up to the job, I’ll take you to the hospital in the morning.’

Grace nodded. ‘Are all your guests as much of a pain in the arse as me?’

‘No.’ Huw sat back against the sofa. ‘I don’t usually see them, not really. Maybe a quick hello when they arrive and a bye when they leave, but that’s it.’

‘Why do you think it’s different for us?’ she asked as Huw began screwing up sheets of newspaper and laying them in twisted bundles in the fireplace.

He sat back as if considering this. ‘I guess we’re kindred spirits.’ He smiled.

Grace smiled too as she pulled the blanket up to her chin, ready to let sleep overcome her. ‘I like that. Kindred spirits,’ she whispered as her breathing turned to snoring and Huw lit the fire.

In the UK, sepsis kills more people than road accidents, breast, bowel and prostate cancer combined

The scab on her forehead healed in barely more than a week, leaving a thin white line that amused Huw no end. He delighted in pointing at it and saying, ‘You’re a wizard, Penderford!’ But she cared little about the scar; her appearance was no longer of interest to her.

It was now the end of a long day in which Grace had hiked the river trail, stocked up on wine, olives and more of that fabulous sourdough bread, and cleaned her car with a sponge and some washing-up liquid. Monty had helped by barking and chasing the water from the hose, making the whole exercise a darn sight messier and more complicated than she had envisaged; she ended up drenched.

She sat in her sparklingly clean car with the engine purring, parked in a lay-by up on the road, drinking in the incredible views down over the valley. She exhaled and swiped the screen of her phone, feeling ridiculously nervous. It was hard for her to fully understand how she and Tom had fallen into this state, hard to picture how they’d been before, when they were happy. Happy parents. She was apprehensive about making the connection, but knew that the longer she left it, the more difficult it would be. Her finger hovered over the icon that meant home. As she closed her eyes, pressed the button and waited, she half wished there’d be no reply.

It took Tom a good thirty seconds to register that the phone was ringing – it had been days since he’d last spoken to anyone – and then to negotiate his way to the handset in the kitchen. The place was barely recognisable as the room he’d once kept in such immaculate condition. Every inch of available surface was now covered with dirty crockery and the foil containers and detritus of a dozen takeaways, and there was actually fungus growing on the tiles behind the sink.

He eventually located the phone and answered. ‘Yup.’

‘Tom?’ Grace couldn’t be sure that it was him; he had given her too little to go on. Was that the voice she had woken up to on countless mornings? The voice that had made those heartfelt vows on their wedding day?

‘Grace.’ He sighed. She couldn’t tell if this was in irritation or relief.

‘Yes, it’s me. I’m sorry, Tom, this isn’t a very good line. The signal here is a bit sketchy.’

‘Yes, I figured that must be it. Why I got no answer or return call when I phoned. At least I hoped it was that and not just that you’re avoiding me.’

There were a few silent seconds while she made the decision to ignore the jibe. She didn’t want to spar with him, had no energy for verbal jousting.

‘How are you?’ she asked.

He laughed at her enquiry and surveyed the empty bottles of wine, crushed beer cans and stinking bin bags that surrounded him. ‘Oh, you know, Grace, peachy, living the life…’

She had prayed that this conversation would go differently. ‘I just wanted to see how you are.’

‘Well, that’s good of you. I’m still here.’ He laughed again.

‘Tom, I don’t want to fight.’
I can’t. I don’t have the strength or the will.

His tone changed. ‘I don’t want to fight either.’

There was another pause while both considered how to continue. It was Tom who spoke first.

‘To be completely honest with you, I don’t know how I am, Grace. Sometimes I can get by okay for hours and the next minute I fall apart – you know?’ He hesitated. ‘And it can hit me at the oddest of times, over the smallest of things.’

‘Yes, I do know. I’m the same.’ She thought about sliding to the ground in the middle of Hay, the way people had ushered their children past, afraid of the wailing lady. She felt a flush of embarrassment.

‘You’re the same, but doing it with a prettier view!’ He sounded genuinely amused and she smiled.

‘Yeah, something like that…’

‘Where are you?’

‘Wales. I told you.’

‘Yes, I know it’s Wales, but whereabouts? It’s a big country.’

‘I’m staying in a kind of shed, but fancier than a shed. It’s nice. Near Hay, on the River Wye. The Old Sheep Shed. It’s pretty and peaceful.’

It was hard to explain her reluctance to give him too much detail, but she felt that this was her refuge and she wanted to protect it. She was also wary of giving too much away, in case he picked up a hint, a nuance in her voice, that she was enjoying someone else’s company as well as the location. Not that she and Huw had any reason to feel guilty, none at all. They had simply become friends, linked by grief, members of the worst club in the world. There was no more to it than that.

‘It sounds lovely.’ There was an awkward pause. ‘When do you think you might come home?’

When are you going home?
she asked herself. ‘I’m not sure. I’ve got the shed booked for another couple of weeks yet, so we’ll see.’

She was aware that she sounded distant and it had little to do with her geographical location. This level of formality and awkwardness was odd for them both.

‘Yes, Grace, I know, another couple of weeks, but I’m wondering if that will be the end of it, will you be coming home then?’

His insight was quite alarming, but her answer was immediate, automatic. ‘Of course I will, Tom.’

‘Righto. Well, that’s good news.’ She could tell by his tone that his relief was superficial. ‘I guess I’ll see you then.’

‘Yes, I’ll see you then.’

It was as if she was talking to a stranger – how had this happened to them? They had both consciously avoided mentioning Chloe, unable to talk about their little girl. She had always been central to every conversation they had, every decision they made.
‘Is she still up? Has she eaten? Would Chloe like it? Kiss her for me…’

‘Oh, and Grace…’

‘Yes, Tom?’ She had been keen to end the call, dreading and predicting what was going to come next.

‘Love love.’

She didn’t want to reply, but she felt backed into a corner. It was a test, a test that she was too afraid to fail. The simple words that held so much meaning and seemed to belong to another lifetime.

‘Yes, Tom. Love love.’

With a click he was gone.

Grace sat in her smart, shiny car and shivered at the prospect of going home and at the thought that she would have to say goodbye to Huw. It was ridiculous, really, how she had latched on to this stranger and how she felt better knowing he was around.

She pictured Tom holding the phone for some time after their call had finished, in the way she had seen him do after speaking to his parents, feeling crestfallen and unsettled; only this time she wasn’t smiling at him from the kitchen, trying to make everything better, supplying him with a cup of tea or a glass of wine and telling him that it didn’t matter, he had to ignore his mum and dad, they didn’t know him and what counted was the three of them, safe and snug inside their lovely home. She heard his thoughts, drifting to her like soundwaves across the miles.
My Grace, where are you?
How could this have happened to us?
It was as if they were on opposite sides of a chasm with neither knowing how to reach the other, and even if they could, the task felt too huge to undertake with the sparse reserves they had left. She hadn’t recognised the timbre to his voice; his words had sounded forced and unnatural.

While she had a strong phone signal, Grace took the opportunity to send her mum, dad and Alice a text.
Staying in peaceful, peaceful Wales and loving the solitude. Here I can think. Sending love. X
She knew they would appreciate this contact, which carried more than a whiff of positivity. She started the engine, switched on her lights and made her way along the lanes to The Old Sheep Shed.

The conversation with Tom had left her spent. She fed Bertha and, still in her jeans and sweatshirt, flopped face down on the bed, pulling the duvet over her legs and feet. She let her thoughts meander and began wondering about Leanne, what she’d been like; she felt a punch of envy that Huw would fight to keep her, make her happy. Not that she wanted Huw, of course not, but had she and Tom ever felt that way? They must have.

She closed her eyes and remembered a time when they were newly married and on holiday in Spain. Sitting hand in hand by the edge of the pool in a budget hotel as the hot sun dipped, they’d sipped at their sangria, smarting from their sunburn and making plans for the house they wanted to buy. Tom had suddenly rolled his top lip up to his gum, where it stuck, exposing his teeth. ‘Look, Grace, I’m Wallace from
Wallace and Gromit
!’ He then proceeded to wave and say hello to everyone that passed, even attempting to drink sangria, which spilled down his shirt. Grace had giggled like a teen, screwing her eyes shut and begging him to stop. ‘Please, Tom, don’t! I’m literally going to wet myself!’ she’d wheezed. But he hadn’t. Couples and families sauntered past on their way to the dining room and Tom greeted them all with his top lip tucked away and the point of his tongue sticking through his teeth. He then stood and with his arms spread wide shouted ‘Cheese!’ in his best Wallace voice. Grace had felt her bladder constrict. ‘Tom! Tom! Oh my God, I’m going to pee!’ She’d laughed until she’d almost cried, barely able to get the words out. Without a word, he grabbed her hand and sprinted with her towards the pool. They had jumped together, hand in hand and fully clothed, landing with a loud splash and shrieks of laughter, free to pee without detection. With her floaty white skirt billowing around her, she had trod water, hand in hand with the man who knew how to fix things.

Apart from this, he couldn’t fix this. No one could.

A small bark made her heart jump as Monty alerted her to the fact that he was on the floor on the other side of the bed.

‘Jesus, Monty! You scared me! I didn’t know you were there.’

He whined and breathed out through his nose. It sounded like an exasperated sigh.

‘It’s okay. Go back to sleep.’

She closed her eyes and spoke to the dog, whose company was reassuring. ‘Chloe would love you,’ she murmured, picturing her little girl petting the placid animal. This was quickly replaced by the memory of her daughter’s podgy bare feet poking from beneath her nightdress on the hall floor. It was this image that replayed in her mind, on a loop, over and over. She wished it would stop.

Grace pulled the spare pillow down into her chest as she rolled onto her side, hugging it close. Her tears came thick and fast, filling her throat and nose. She cried silently and deeply, swallowing the saltiness. ‘I miss you, darling. I miss your little hand in mine, I miss your voice and I miss the way I could hug you into me and smell your hair. Chloe… My little Chloe…’

The sleep that followed these tearful episodes was always deep if short. Sometime later, she let her eyes flicker open at the sound of creaking.

‘Sorry, Grace,’ Huw whispered as he tentatively pushed the door wide. ‘Is Monty in here?’

She nodded her cheek against the pillow. As if on cue, Monty whined.

‘There you are.’ Huw’s voice was hushed, his tone a mixture of relief and amusement.

‘Stay with me,’ she whispered in her half-sleeping state.

‘What?’ He needed it repeating; the awkwardness that would ensue if he’d misheard would be devastating.

She raised her head slightly. ‘I said, stay with me. Please.’

Huw shut the door behind him, crept towards the bed and sat on his fishing stool beside her.

Grace closed her eyes, happy to know he was there. She heard the groan of the fabric against the wooden frame as he leant forward and gently placed his hand on her back. Her skin pulsed beneath the weight of his touch.

‘Do you think… do you think you might hold me, Huw?’ she whispered into the darkness.

Slowly, hesitantly, he rose from the stool, walked to the other side of the bed and stepped over the snoring Monty. Grace heard him pull off his heavy work boots and remove his thick, plaid shirt before folding back the duvet and easing his body into the bed. He edged closer to her and wrapped his muscled arms around her. The backs of her legs rested against his thighs and her head lay on his chest. She placed her palm on his forearm; her heart beat fast at the thrill of being close to another person, a man. A man that wasn’t Tom.

Huw tried to arrange the pillow and as his hand reached beneath it, he touched a small, soft item. Pulling it from the shadows, he saw it was a child’s nightdress. He tucked it under Grace’s hand. She was vaguely aware of the lightest kiss on her temple before she drifted off, unable to fight the sleep that pulled her under, into another world, her escape tunnel.